CAPTURE  OF  THE  FAWX.     Pasre  20. 


THE   FRONTIER    SERIES. 


CABIN  ON  THE  PRAIRIE. 


BY 


REV.   C.   H.   PEARSON, 

ATJTHOB  OP  "  SCENES  IN  THE  WEST,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED, 


BOSTON: 

LEE     AND     SHEPARD, 
1870. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  ^ear  1869,  by 
*  "" 


In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  IJfctrict^Coftrt  9f  fhe  District  of  Massachusetts. 


ELECTKOTYPED  AT  THE 

BOBTON  STEREOTYPE  FOUNDBY, 

19  Spring  Lane. 


TO 

K 

j/r  SISTER, 

WHOSE   SPIRIT   HAS  JUST  GONE   FROM   PRAIRIE-LIFE 
TO   THE   HILLS    OF    PARADISE, 

/  INSCRIBE    THIS   BOOK. 
C.    H.   PEARSON. 


M88963 


THE    FRONTIER    SERIES. 


FOUR  VOLUMES,    ILLUSTRATED. 


1.  The  Cabin  on  the  Prairie.    By  Kev.  C.  H.  PEARSON. 

Price  $1.25. 

2.  Planting  the  Wilderness;   or,  THE  PIONEER  BOYS. 

By  J.  D.  McCABE.     Price  $1.25. 

3.  A  Thousand  Miles9  Walk  Across  South  America. 

By  NATHANIEL  H.  BISHOP.     Price  $1.50. 

4.  Twelve  Nights  in  the  Hunters9  Camp.    By  Rev. 

WM.  BARROWS.    Price  $1.25. 


A    FRONTIER    PROPHET. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

"!F  you  stay  here  long,  you  will  become  so  Westernized 
that  you  will  lose  all  love  for  New  England.  That's  my 
experience."  So  said  a  brawny  pioneer,  a  man  of  large 
mind,  and  generous  heart,  and  a  sledge-hammer  fist  that 
never  struck  a  coward's  blow;  but  when  swung  in  defence 
of  the  right  was  like  "the  jaw-bone"  of  Samson  to  the 
Philistines.  He  had  emigrated  from  Maine  twenty  years 
before,  and  was  one  of  the  first  settlers  I  met  on  the  prairie 
near  the  scene  of  my  story.  Was  his  prediction  fulfilled? 
Ah,  how  like  sweetest  music  sounded  the  bells  of  Salem 
(city  of  peace)  the  first  Sunday  of  my  return  to  the  Old 
Bay  State !  Besides,  the  frontiersman  misrepresented  him 
self.  For,  seated  by  his  ample  clay-stick-and-stone  fire 
place,  how  his  eye  kindled,  and  tones  mellowed,  as  he 
treated  us  to  reminiscences  of  his  early  days !  And  what 
a  grip  he  gave  the  hand  of  a  freshly-arrived  Yankee ! 

Then  there  were  those  east  who  said,  "You  will  soon 
tire  of  the  West."  They,  also,  were  mistaken.  An  invalid, 
with  shadowy  form  and  trembling  limbs,  when  I  left  New 
England,  I  awakened  to  a  new  life  in  Minnesota.  "Take 
a  gun  on  your  shoulders,  kill  and  eat  the  wild  game  of 
the  prairies,"  said  my  medical  friends.  I  anticipated  vicis 
situde  and  deprivation  in  following  such  counsel  j  but  these 

(5) 


6  INTRODUCTORY. 

toughened  my  weak  frame,  and  added  zest  to  frontier  labors 
and  pleasures;  for  I  was  soon  able  to  do  a  man's  share 
of  the  former,  and  in  threading  forest  and  prairie  I  was 
brought  into  delightful  nearness  to  nature  in  its  beauty, 
freshness,  and  magnitude,  and  in  visiting  the  lodge  of  the 
Indian  and  the  cabins  of  the  settlers .  I  met  with  plenty 
of  adventure. 

In  writing  this  work,  I  have,  with  peculiar  interest,  lived 
over  the  scenes  and  incidents  of  my  varied  frontier  expe 
rience;  have  travelled  once  more  amid  the  waving  grasses 
and  beckoning  flowers;  heard  again  the  bark  of  the  wolf, 
and  the  voices  of  birds;  felt  on  my  brow  the  kiss  of  the 
health-giving  breeze ;  worshipped  anew  in  the  log-cabin 
sanctuary.  Yes,  East  and  West  are  both  dear  to  me.  One 
fittingly  supplements  the  other.  Each  holds  the  ashes  of 
kindred.  By  a  singular  providence,  since  this  tale  was 
completed,  a  much-loved  relative,  one  of  the  gentlest  and 
most  self-sacrificing  whose  presence  ever  glorified  the  earth, 
has  found  a  resting-place  in  the  bosom  of  the  very  prairie 
I  had  in  mind  while  penning  these  pages.  Sent  west  by 
physicians  to  save  her  life,  she  reached  that  spot  in  time 
to  die,  thus  attaching  my  heart  to  that  soil  by  another  and 
sorrowful  tie. 

That  East  and  West  may  be  bound  together  by  love,  as 
well  as  by  national  and  commercial  relations,  and  that 
this  story  may  tend  in  its  humble  way  to  so  happy  a  re- 
gult,  is  the  earnest  wish  of 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I.  THE  PIONEER  FAMILY.  — A  SPIRITED  CHASE.   .  9 

II.  SHOOTING  DOUBLE.  — A  FRONTIER  DOCTOR.  .  23 

III.  WHERE  CAN  HE  BE?  — A  HEART  REVELATION.  .  35 

IV.  A  BRUSH  WITH  INDIANS.  — A  BLACK  HEART.  47 
V.  BROTHER  SMITH  AND  THE  QUARTER  STAKES.  .  65 

VI.  MRS.  JONES'S  STORY.  — THE  GRAY  WOLF.     .         79 

VII.    A  SABBATH  ON  THE  PRAIRIE 93 

VIII.    TOM'S  VICTORY. 105 

IX.    A  SURPRISE il6 

X.  No  WHISKEY  AT  THIS  RAISING.       .        .        .126 

XI.  OLD  MRS.  SKINFLINT  IN  TROUBLE.  —  LOST  IN 

THE  WOODS *42 

XII.    FIRE  AND  FLOOD IS8 

XIII.  THE  INDIAN  LODGE *7o 

XIV.  THE  WAR- SONG 187 

XV.  THE  MASSACRE  AT  SPIRIT  LAKE,    ...       194 

XVI.    A  BELEAGUERED  CABIN. 210 

(7) 


CONTENTS. 


XVIII.    THE  BOY  IN  THE  TREE 237 


XVII.  THE  MYSTERIOUS  FIRE.    . 

[VIII.  THE  BOY  IN  THE 

XI£.  BUB'S  BROADSIDE 2-o 

XX.  LONG  HAIR ^ 

XXI.  "PULL  THE  STRINGS,  BUB."    .        .        .  .    272 

XXII.  TOM  AND  THE  MONEY-LENDER.   .        .        .  285 

XXIII.  AN  ENCHANTING  SCENE.  — THE  PARTING.  .    295 


THE  CABIN  ON  THE  PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  °1. 

THE    PIONEER   FAMILY. A    SPIRITED    CHASE. 

"THERE,  the  last  hill  is  dug,  and  I'm  glad!" 
and  Tom  Jones  leaned  on  his  hoe,  lost  in 
thought. 

He  was  a  stout  lad  of  sixteen,  with  frowzy 
brown  hair,  crowned  by  a  brimless  straw  hat, 
and  his  pants  looked  as  if  they  had  been  turned 
inside  out  and  outside  in,  upside  down  and  down 
side  up,  and  darned  and  patched  and  re-darned 
and  patched  again,  until  time,  and  labor,  and 
cloth  enough,  such  as  it  was,  had  been  used  to 
fabricate  a  number  of  pairs  of  pants.  As  for 
boots,  —  for  his  lower  extremities  were  not  wholly 
destitute  of  protection,  —  they  might  have  come 
down  to  him  as  an  heir-loom  from  a  pauper  of  a 
preceding  generation.  But  what  mattered  it  to 
him  that  his  clothes  were  threadbare,  many-hued, 

CO 


IO  THE   CABIN   ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

and  grotesque?  or  that  his  boots  let  the  deef, 
rich  soil  in  at  sides  and  toes?  Was  he  not* a 
"  squatter  sovereign,"  or  the  son  of  one,  free  in 
his  habits  as  the  Indian  that  roamed  the  prairies 
of  his  frontier  home?  He  had  not  heard  of 
"the  latest  fashion,"  and  paid  no  attention  to  the 
cuUcf\hifct  gtiiJrnehtG,  although,  it  must  be  con 
fessed;  he  Sometimes  wished  them  a  trifle  more 
;a-n$  ' r  tomfprtable^  His  home,  as  I  have 
^  was  bh"the  prairie.  Nevertheless,  the 
family  domain  was  an  unpretending  one.  Less 
than  an  acre,  fenced  in  the  rudest  manner,  en 
closed  the  "farm  and  farm  buildings,"  the  latter 
consisting  of  a  small  log  house  and  log  pigsty, 
the  cabin,  at  the  time  our  sketch  opens,  being,  it 
is  evident,  at  least  two  seasons  old  —  a  fact  which 
serves  to  show  the  more  plainly  the  poverty  and 
thriftlessness  of  the  inmates ;  for  they  have  had 
time,  certainly,  to  cultivate  quite  a  tract  of  the 
easily-tilled  land,  had  they  enterprise  and  indus 
try.  But  they  belonged  to  a  class  not  famous 
for  these  virtues  —  the  restless,  ever-moving  class 
that  pioneer  the  way  towards  the  setting  sun. 
But  perhaps  we  are  leaving  the  boy  propped  too 
long  on  his  hoe.  Let  us  take  a  more  critical  look 
at  him.  "  Fine  feathers  don't  make  fine  birds," 
observes  the  old  proverb.  Forgetting  the  dress, 
then,  please  study  his  face.  A  clear,  deep-blue 
eye,  delicately-arched  eyebrows,  regular  features, 


THE   PIONEER   FAMILY.  II 

mouth  and  chin  indicating  decision  and  native 
refinement,  and  a  well-developed  forehead.  Ah, 
here  may  be  a  diamond  in  the  rough !  Who 
knows  ? 

The  squatter's  son  looked  about  him  with  a 
dissatisfied  air.  "I  do  wish,"  he  soliloquized, 
"  that  I  could  see  something  of  the  world,  and  do 
something  for  myself.  Here  we've  been  chan 
ging  around  from  one  place  to  another,  doing 
nothing  but  raise  a  few  potatoes  and  a  little  corn, 
living  in  a  miserable  cabin,  where  there  are  no 
schools,  and  scarcely  any  neighbors.  It's  too 
bad  to  spend  all  our  day's  so.  I  believe  we  were 
made  for  something  better ;  and,  as  the  minister 
told  us  Sunday,  we  ought  to  try  and  be  some 
body,  and  not  float  along  as  the  stick  on  the 
stream.  I'm  sure  it  isn't,  and  never  was,  to 
mother's  mind ;  and,  as  to  father  —  "  And  here 
he  stopped  and  pondered,  as  if  trying  to  solve  a 
mystery,  and  in  a  style  that  would  have  been 
pronounced  philosophic,  had  he  been  a  college 
professor  —  scratched  his  head.  .Then,  with  his 
ragged  sleeve,  he  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow, 
leaving  a  streak  of  black  that  made  that  part  of 
his  face  present  quite  a  different  appearance  from 
what  it  did,  reader,  when  you  and  I  noticed  it  a 
moment  ago.  And  going  to  the  cabin,  he  re 
turned  with  a  rickety  basket,  and,  commencing 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  field,  began  picking  up 


12  THE   CABIN   ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 

the  potatoes  that  had  been  left  drying  in  the  sun. 
A  goodly  crop  had  the  little  patch  produced ;  for 
the  vegetable  decays  and  fertilizing  rains  and 
snows  of  centuries  had  covered  the  prairie  with  a 
dressing  with  which  art  could  not  compete,  and 
it  was  more  difficult  not  to  get  a  harvest  from  the 
seed  sown  than  to  get  one.  The  rows  of  hills 
were  covered  with  the  bountiful  returns  brought 
up  to  the  light  of  day  by  Tom's  well-used  hoe. 
It  was  not,  however,  the  size,  quality,  or  number 
of  the  potatoes  that  most  interested  Tom  just  then. 
The  fact  that  they  were  all  out  of  the  ground ;  that 
the  corn  was  cut  and  stacked,  and  the  pumpkins 
ready  to  be  housed ;  that  the  fall  work  could  be 
finished  by  that  afternoon's  sun-setting, — stirred 
him  strangely ;  for  he  had  of  late  begun  to  ques 
tion  the  future,  to  learn  what  it  had  in  store  for 
him.  He  had  come  to  realize,  in  a  degree,  that 
that  future  would  be  very  much  what  he  chose 
to  make  it.  And  serious  dissatisfaction  with  the 
past  and  the  present  filled  his  heart  with  dis 
quiet. 

Tom's  memory  had  been  active  for  a  few  days. 
How  like  yesterday  it  seemed,  when  he  was  a 
little  child,  and  his  father,  getting  together  money 
enough,  bought  a  horse  and  wagon,  and,  putting 
the  family  in  the  vehicle,  started  out  prospect 
ing  for  a  new  home  farther  from  the  advancing 
waves  of  civilization  !  How  many  similar  expe- 


THE    PIONEER    FAMILY.  13 

ditions  had  they  taken  since,  and  how  painfully 
had  their  experiences  illustrated  the  saying,  "A 
rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss  "  !  But  roll  Mr. 
Jones  would.  Tom  knew  this  too  well.  It  was, 
indeed,  viewed  in  one  aspect,  an  easy  way  to 
get  on,  this  going  in  one's  own  conveyance  from 
place  to  place  of  Uncle  Sam's  unsettled  lands ; 
this  living  off  the  country,  gypsying  in  the  woods 
and  on  the  prairies  ;  this  two  thirds  savage  and  one 
third  civilized  mode  of  putting  a  growing  family 
through  the  world ;  and  if  you  were  to  see  Mr. 
Jones  seated  in  the  emigrant  wagon,  reins  in 
hand  and  pipe  in  mouth,  or  with  shouldered  rifle 
on  the  track  of  a  deer,  you  would  say  that  such 
a  life  was  eminently  agreeable  to  him.  Every 
man  is  made  for  something ;  and  you  would  say 
that  he  was  cut  out  for  a  wandering  frontier 
loafer,  who  gets  his  subsistence  by  doing  the 
least  possible  work  in  the  easiest  possible  man 
ner,  and  hunting  and  fishing.  A  horse  and  wag 
on,  or  extemporized  log  cabin,  for  a  shelter  ;  tools 
enough  for  the  simplest  tilling  of  the  soil,  and 
furniture  for  the  rudest  housekeeping  and  cloth- 
"ing ;  the  making  over,  by  the  industrious  wife, 
of  clothes  bought  "some  time  back,"  —  such  was 
the  way  the  Joneses  lived.  Putting  up  a  small 
log  house  by  the  bank  of  a  river  for  the  sake  of 
the  fish,  and  near  a  forest  for  the  game,  with 
"a  strip  of  clean  prairie"  for  "garden  sarce,"  — 


14  THE    CABIN   ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

there  they  might  remain  for  a  year  or  two  ;  then 
you  would  be  quite  sure  to  find  the  immigrant 
friend  looking  discontented,  and  expressing  a 
wish  to  "sell  his  claim." 

"  It's  growing  so  crowded  with  folks  coming 
into  the  country,  I  can't  go  three  miles  without 
stumbling  against  a  shanty  or  a  house ;  and  cart 
tracks  are  getting  so  plenty,  I  can't  stand  it.  I 
must  pull  up  stakes,  and  go  farther  on  to  find  a 
place  to  breathe  in." 

And,  perchance,  realizing  a  trifle  for  his  claim 
and  improvements,  Dobbin  is  hitched  anew  into 
the  crazy  old  wagon.  The  broken  crockery,  and 
leaky  black  tea-pot,  and  ancient  cooking-stove  — 
the  pipe  of  the  latter  running  up  through  the 
wagon-top  —  are  once  more  aboard,  wife  and  chil 
dren  packed  in,  and  the  uneasy  frontiersman  is 
pushing  out  again  towards  solitude. 

Tom  had  been  reviewing  this  bit  of  family  his 
tory  more  in  detail,  and  much  more  vividly  than 
we  have  now  done.  The  result  was  a  feeling 
of  disgust,  and  a  resolution  to  break  away  from 
such  a  life,  and  an  endeavor  for  something 
higher. 

But  what  had  brought  the  squatter's  son  to 
such  a  conclusion?  The  condition  of  the  family 
had  for  some  time  been  unsatisfactory  to  Tom. 
Though  brought  up  in  this  roying,  improvident 
way,  his  better  nature  often  revolted  against  it ; 


THE   PIONEER   FAMILY.  15 

not,  however,  so  strongly  and  decisively  as  now. 
Still,  desires,  and  even  longings,  for  something 
better  had  flitted  through  his  mind,  only  to  make 
him  moody  and  irritable.  Doubtless  these  aspi 
rations  were  due,  in  no  small  measure,  to  his 
mother  —  a  woman  much  superior  to  her  condi 
tion,  but  who,  clinging  to  her  husband  with  a 
pure  and  changeless  love,  accepted  the  privations 
of  her  lot  without  a  murmur.  Taken  by  her 
marriage  from  the  comforts  and  advantages  of  a 
good  home,  she  had  followed  his  fortunes  "for 
better  or  for  worse,"  having  much  more  of  the 
latter,  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  than  the  former. 
Not  that  Mr.  Jones  was  a  hard  or  a  dissipated 
man  ;  but  his  roving  habits,  and  the  deprivations 
and  poverty  they  endured,  had  made  her  days  sad 
and  toil-worn. 

Tom,  in  his  tastes,  was  like  his  mother.  But 
a  new  event  had 'recently  occurred.  A  godly 
minister,  in  search  of  the  lost  sheep  of  the 
heavenly  fold,  had  made  his  way  into  the  region, 
and,  the  Sabbath  previous  to  the  opening  of  our 
sketch,  had,  in  earnest,  eloquent  words,  preached 
the  gospel  to  the  settlers.  The  log  cabin,  in 
which  the  services  were  held,  was  only  a  mile 
and  a  half  distant,  and  Tom  and  his  father,  with 
the  neighbors  generally,  attended.  How  differ 
ently  the  gospel  message  affects  different  per 
sons  !  Some  are  softened,  others  are  hardened, 


l6  THE   CABIN   ON  THE   PRAIRIE. 

by  it.  Some  are  stirred  up  to  certain  duties, 
while,  under  the  same  sermon,  others  are  incited 
to  an  entirely  different  train  of  thought  and  course 
of  action.  The  effect  on  Tom  of  the  sermons 
of  the  preacher  was  to  incite  his  feelings  to  revolt 
against  his  lot  in  life,  and  arouse  him  to  the  ne 
cessity  of  a  purpose  in  living.  He  did  not  look 
forward  so  much  to  the  world  to  come  as  to  the 
"  to  come  "  of  this  world.  The  present  in  its  re 
lations  to  life  here  —  this  was  the  point  with  him  ; 
and  he  revolved  the  subject,  viewing  it  in  every 
possible  light,  until  a  decision  was  reached. 

"This  preacher,"  said  he,  "is  from  a  region 
of  schools  and  privileges.  Why  can  I  not  seek 
such  advantages,  and  be  somebody,  and  accom 
plish  something?  Why  can  I  not  go  to  the  city 
to  school  this  winter  ?  "  What  an  idea  for  him  ! 
It  almost  took  his  breath  to  think  of  it.  And, 
then,  how  should  he  get  there?  Where  was  the 
money  coming  from  to  support  him  while  study 
ing? 

"I  must  work  and  earn  it,"  he  replied.  "I  can 
do  anything  honest ;  I  can,  at  least,  work  for  my 
board." 

Tom's  mind  had  suffered  from  a  famine  of 
knowledge.  He  could  read  passably  well,  write 
a  little,  was  good  at  reckoning,  and  the  little  he 
knew  excited  a  craving  for  more.  Public  ad 
dresses  had  always  moved  him  deeply,  and  the 


THE    PIONEER   FAMILY.  1 7 

living  truths  of  the  gospel,  as  presented  by  the 
living  preacher,  had  set  the  mental  machinery  in 
motion,  until  the  decision  to  go  from  home  in 
search  of  an  education,  had  been  wrought  out ; 
and  it  was  this  rising  purpose  that  kept  him  so 
patiently  at  his  day's  task  of  finishing  up  the 
fall  work,  that  he  might  commence  his  new 
career. 

"I  will  finish  getting  in  the  crops  by  dark," 
said  he,  as  he  filled  the  basket,  "  and  then  there 
will  be  nothing  to  keep  me  at  home  ; "  and  he 
was  about  raising  the  basket  to  his  shoulder, 
when  he  was  startled  from  his  reveries  by  a  loud 
cry  of,  — 

"Tom,  Tom!  come  quick!  I've  caught  a 
fawn,  and  he'll  get  away  !  "  It  was  twelve-year- 
old  Charley  from  the  hazel  bushes  that  bordered 
the  potato-patch  near  the  woods.  Tom  ran  to 
assist  his  brother,  but  could  scarcely  believe  his 
eyes  when  he  saw  the  little  fellow  had  caught 
the  fawn  by  the  tail,  and  was  struggling  to  hold 
the  agile  creature,  forgetting  how  dexterously  the 
deer  can  use  his  heels.  Scarcely  had  the  elder 
brother  mounted  the  fence,  when,  with  a  smart 
kick,  the  fawn  sent  Charley  over  on  his  back, 
and  leaped  into  the  enclosure.  At  this  instant 
a  bevy  of  flaxen-haired  urchins,  hatless,  bonnet- 
less, —  Tom's  brothers  and  sisters,  —  came  whoop 
ing  from  the  cabin,  and  joined  the  chase.  In 
2 


1 8  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

a  moment  Tom  had  forgotten  all  his  gloomy 
thoughts  and  high  resolves,  and  was  as  eager  as 
any  of  them,  as  they  tried  to  secure  the  nimble 
prize.  A  lively  time  it  was,  too  ;  fear  and  speed 
against  numbers,  noise,  and  strategy.  A  good 
force  were  the  pursuers ;  the  "  olive  plants "  of 
the  Joneses  grew  very  naturally  in  regular  grada 
tions,  like  the  steps  of  a  flight  of  stairs.  Tom, 
Eliza,  Charley,  Bob,  Sarah,  Bill,  and  Bub,  the 
four-year-old,  were  all  active  with  hands,  legs, 
and  lungs,  while  the  mother  stood  in  the  door 
way,  surveying  the  scene,  with  baby  in  her 
arms. 

"Fix  up  the  fence  where  the  deer  jumped 
in  !  "  cried  Tom  to  Charley ;  and  the  latter  has 
tened  to  repair  the  breach,  for  the  brush  had 
been  broken  down  at  that  point. 

From  corner  to  corner  and  side  to  side  bounded 
the  deer,  slipping  through  the  fingers  of  one  and 
another  of  the  youngsters ;  but  they  gave  him 
no  rest. 

"Stop  him,  'Lize!  Hold  him,  Bob!  Head 
him  off,  Say !  Get  out  of  the  way,  Bub ! 
There!  why  didn't  you  catch  him,  Charley? 
Mother,  can't  you  put  down  baby,  and  help  us? 
He'll  get  away !  There !  he's  going  over  the 
fence  !  No,  he  isn't !  "  Amid  such  vociferations 
the  children  rushed  on,  pell-mell,  till  out  of 
breath.  Luckily,  the  brush  fence  was  so  thick 


A    SPIRITED    CHASE.  19 

and  high,  being  made  of  dead  trees  piled  upon 
each  other,  that  the  animal  could  find  no  point 
to  push  through  or  scale,  especially  while  kept 
in  "  running  order  "  by  his  pursuers.  Although 
thus  imprisoned,  he  was  baffling  their  efforts,  re 
fusing  to  be  captured,  when  Tom  said  to  the 
children,  — 

"We  can't  catch  him  this  way.  But  if  you 
will  all  do  as  I  tell  you,  I  guess  we  can."  The 
fawn  was  standing  in  the  further  corner  of  the 
field,  as  if  waiting  to  see  what  they  would  do 
next.fr  And  Tom,  ranging  his  force  in  line,  him 
self  at  the  head,  gave  the  word  to  advance  to 
wards  the  deer. 

"  Steady,  steady,"  said  he,  as  they  neared  the 
animal.  They  had  succeeded  in  approaching 
within  a  few  yards,  and  Tom,  with  outspread 
arms  and  eagle  eye,  advanced  slowly,  watching 
to  seize  him  if  he  should  attempt  to  spring  away, 
when  little  Bub,  who  had  been  sent  into  the  cabin 
by  Tom,  having  gone  around  unobserved  on  the 
outside  of  the  garden  behind  the  deer,  suddenly 
ran  a  sharp  stick  through  the  brush  into  the  crea 
ture's  back,  saying,  — 

"  I  make  'im  wun  !  " 

Frantically  jumped  the  deer  at  this  —  a  denoue 
ment  so  unexpected  to  his  assailants,  that  the  line 
became  broken,  the  little  soldiers  were  tumbled 
together,  with  Tom  on  top  of  them,  and  the  deer 


2O  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

stood  almost  at  the"  same  instant  at  the  other  end 
of  the  patch,  the  whole  being  accomplished  with 
marvellous  quickness. 

"  Get  off  my  head !  "  screamed  Sarah  from 
under  the  heap. 

"  O,  dear,  you'll  break  my  arm  !  "  cried  Eliza. 

"What  did  you  fall  on  me  for?"  angrily  de 
manded  Bob  of  Charley,  as  he  spit  the  dirt  from 
his  mouth.  "  You  did  it  on  purpose  —  you  know 
you  did !  " 

"No,  I  didn't!" 

"Yes,  you  did!" 

"I  should  a  thought  Tom  might  a  held  the 
deer,  an'  not  fell  on  us  so  heavy,"  sobbed  Sarah, 
rubbing  her  eyes  with  her  begrimed  gown. 

But  while  they  fretted,  the  fawn  had  been 
critically  examining  the  fence  to  find  egress,  see 
ing  which  the  children  dried  their  tears,  and 
made  for  him  again  ;  and  at  length  the  graceful 
creature,  bewildered  by  the  din,  and  foiled  by 
numbers,  was  forced  to  surrender  himself  after 
another  vigorous  scramble,  in  which  the  basket 
of  potatoes  was  overturned,  and  the  corn  scattered 
in  delightful  disorder,  and  was  borne  by  Tom  in 
triumph  to  the  cabin,  accompanied  by  the  ex 
cited'  group. 

"We've  got  him,  marm  —  we've  got  him!" 
they  shouted  in  chorus  as  they  followed  their 
leader  into  the  house. 


A    SPIRITED    CHASE.  21 

"And  where  will  you  keep  him  to-night?  "  she 
inquired. 

"  He  tan  seep  with  me  !  "  promptly  answered 
Bub,  at  which  there  was  much  merriment. 

"No,"  replied  Tom,  shaking  his  head  at  the 
mischief-maker,  "you  will  stick  a  stick  into  his 
back,  and  '  make  'im  wun'  again." 

After  much  deliberation  it  was  decided  that  the 
fawn  be  tied  to  a  bed-post,  while  a  pen  was  built 
for  his  accommodation  near  the  cabin.  This  was 
soon  accomplished,  and  the  fawn  placed  in  it. 

When  Tom  returned  to  his  work,  the  day  was 
far  gone.  He  gazed  around  with  regret  as  he 
saw  that  not  only  was  it  now  too  late  to  finish 
getting  in  the  crops,  but  that  the  chase  of  the 
deer,  in  which  he  had  engaged  with  so  much 
ardor,  had  made  him  no  little  extra  labor.  What 
a  task  it  would  be  to  find  all  the  potatoes,  scattered 
and  trampled  into  the  rich  earth  as  they  were  ! 
and  the  bundles  of  corn  had  been  broken  from 
their  bindings,  and  must  be  gathered  together 
and  refastened.  To  find  and  carry  in  the  pota 
toes  consumed  the  time  till  supper ;  and  then,  at 
his  mother's  call,  he  went  in  depressed  and  un 
happy,  and  after  bringing  in  the  wood  for  the 
breakfast  fire,  and  feeding  the  pigs,  he  went  up 
the  rude  ladder  to  his  straw  bed  on  the  floor. 

It  was  scanty  fare  that  the  Jones  family  had. 
You  could  see  that  by  their  looks.  It  is  true  that 


22  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

they  were  healthy  and  strong ;  but  they  lacked 
the  fair,  plump  development  that  plenty  of  food 
of  a  suitable  variety  gives  to  childhood  and 
youth.  Of  vegetables  they  were  not  destitute ; 
potatoes,  corn,  beans,  and  pumpkins  they  had  in 
abundance  since  fall  set  in,  if  not  before.  Bread, 
milk,  and  meat  were  usually  scarce  with  them. 
For  the  latter  they  depended  principally  on  the 
father's  rifle ;  but  as  he  was  apt  to  take  wide  and 
eccentric  tramps  over  the  prairies,  there  would  be 
long  intervals  when  but  little  game  from  his  gun 
made  savory  the  family  cooking. 

Mr.  Jones  had  been  away  for  some  days  now, 
and  his  patient  wife  had  really  suffered  for  food. 
Vegetables  of  the  same  kind,  served  up  pretty 
much  in  the  same  way,  with  little  to  give  relish 
to  them,  a  big  crying  infant  the  while  tugging  at 
her  breast,  and  the  house-work  to  do,  it  is  not 
strange  that  while  the  children,  fresh  from  romp 
ing  in  the  bracing  prairie  air,  were  favored  with 
a  ravenous  appetite,  she  had  little.  Tom  under 
stood  all  this ;  for,  constituted  like  her,  he,  too, 
felt  the  deprivations  of  the  table,  although  in  a 
less  degree,  and  much  did  he  worry  about  her 
meagre  diet. 

"Ah,"  he  thought,  as  he  lay  down  for  the 
night,  "when  I  am  away  and  earning,  won't  I 
send  the  good  things  to  mother !  " 


SHOOTING    DOUBLE. 


CHAPTER   II. 

SHOOTING  DOUBLE. A  FRONTIER  DOCTOR. 

TOM  slept  soundly,  and  notwithstanding  he 
charged  his  memory  to  awaken  him  before  day 
break,  dawn  was  brightening  the  east  while  he 
was  still  in  the  shadowy  land  of  dreams.  The 
low  attic  had  no  window,  save  a  pane  of  glass 
nailed  over  a  hole  under  the  eaves  ;  and  long  the 
lad  might  have  slumbered  on,  had  not  a  loud 
sound  suddenly  aroused  him. 

"Does  it  thunder?"  he  exclaimed,  fearing  a 
prairie  tempest  had  arisen  to  interfere  with  his 
cherished  project  of  leaving  home. 

Peering  through  the  window  pane,  he  saw,  to 
his  surprise,  that  the  morning  was  cloudless. 
What  could  it  mean?  Assuredly  he  had  heard 
the  rolling  of  thunder  !  He  looked  out  again,  for 
another  and  more  agreeable  thought  had  struck 
him. 

"Yes,  it's  the  hens!"  he  ejaculated;  "my! 
what  a  heap  of  them  ! " 

By  "the  hens,"  he  meant  prairie  hens;  for  in 
this  familiar  way  they  are  spoken  of  at  the  west. 


24  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

They  had  spied  out  the  corn,  and  the  fact  that  it 
was  there,  by  some  telegraphic  system  in  vogue 
among  the  birds,  had  spread  for  miles  around ; 
and  making  their  way  through  the  tall  grass  from 
every  direction,  at  once,  as  the  sun  appeared, 
they  flew  in  a  huge  body  over  the  little  cabin  into 
the  field.  For  this  species  of  grouse  {Tetrao 
cufodo)  are  models  of  good  order  and  punctuality 
as  to  their  meals,  and  many  an  eastern  boy  or 
girl  might,  we  suspect,  get  a  useful  hint  from  them 
on  table  etiquette.  They  assemble,  as  if  by  ap 
pointment,  around  the  farmer's  grain-field,  and 
quietly  wait  for  the  breakfast  signal,  which  is  the 
rising  of  the  sun,  then  enter  the  enclosure  to 
gether,  and  having  fed  just  one  hour  by  their 
unerring  chronometer,  they  retire,  to  return  at 
sunset  for  another  hour's  feeding.  This  was  their 
first  visit  to  Mr.  Jones's  patch  ;  doubtless  the  tram 
pled  and  scattered  corn  had  tempted  them  in  now. 

Tom's  eyes  danced  for  joy,  as,  peeping  at  the 
hens,  he  hurried  on  his  clothes.  Hundreds  were 
there  pecking  along  like  so  many  turkeys.  It 
was  the  combined  whirr  of  their  wings  that  woke 
him  so  effectually ;  many  an  older  person  on  the 
frontier  has  been  deceived  by  the  same  sound, 
supposing  it  to  be  thunder,  so  heavy  a  noise  do 
these  wild  fowl  of  the  prairies  make  when  num 
bers  of  them  fly  together. 

"  Won't  mother  be  glad  ! "  he  whispered  to  him- 


SHOOTING    DOUBLE.  25 

self;  "and  what  a  dinner  she'll  have  to-day!" 
And  descending  the  ladder,  he  took  from  the 
Booked  pegs  overhead  his  father's  old  shot-gun, 
where  it  had  hung  unused  for  months,  and  from 
a  little  box  some  powder  and  shot,  and  a  percus 
sion  cap ;  then  loading  in  haste,  he  rested  the 
weapon  on  the  window-sill,  that  he  might  take 
steady  aim,  and  fired  at  the  fowl.  A  terrible  re 
port  followed,  and  Tom  came  to  himself  to  find 
his  mother  bathing  his  forehead,  and  his  sisters 
crying.  The  gun  was  out  of  order,  and,  being 
also  overloaded,  had  blown  off  the  lock,  burning 
his  face,  and  stunning  him  by  the  recoil. 

Poor  Tom  returned  to  consciousness  to  suffer. 
His  face  began  rapidly  to  swell,  and  presented  a 
frightful  appearance,  so  blackened  was  it  by  the 
powder,  and  the  smarting  was  intense.  Mrs. 
Jones,  in  her  isolated  life,  had  been  too  many  times 
thrown  on  her  own  resources  to  be  wholly  over 
come  by  the  disaster.  Her  chief  anxiety  was 
lest  Tom's  eyes  were  destroyed,  as  the  eyebrows 
and  eyelashes  had  been  completely  burned  off 
by  the  explosion.  When  she  saw,  however,  that 
he  was  not  blind,  she  said,  with  tears,  — 

"O,  how  glad  I  am,  dear  child,  that  your  eyes 
are  spared ! " 

A  couple  of  miles  away  lived  a  doctor,  —  or  an 
individual  who  wore  that  title, — on  whom,  in  emer 
gencies,  the  scattered  settlers  were  wont  to  call. 


26  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

This  queer  yEsculapian  specimen  was  remarkably 
tall  and  lank,  always  went  with  his  pants  tucked 
in  the  tops  of  his  thumping  cowhide  boots,  and 
wore  a  red  woollen  shirt,  the  soiled  and  limpsy 
neck-band  of  which,  coming  nearly  to  his  ears, 
served  instead  of  a  collar.  He  dwelt  alone,  with 
his  cat,  in  a  rude,  claim-shanty,  sleeping  with  his 
window  open  and  door  unfastened ;  and  if  his 
services  were  needed  in  the  night,  the  messenger 
would  put  his  head  in  at  the  window  and  call  to 
him,  or  pull  the  latch-string  and  walk  in.  The 
doctor  was  pompous  in  conversation,  and  affected 
long  words ;  but  it  was  understood  —  unfortu 
nately  for  his  patients  —  that  his  advantages  had 
been  poor. 

For  this  worthy  Charley  had  been  promptly 
despatched  by  his  mother  ;  and  good  time  did  the 
child  make,  so  frightened  was  he  about  poor  Tom. 
He  was  an  imaginative  lad,  and,  when  much  ex 
cited,  apt  to  see  "two  hundred  black  cats  fighting 
in  the  yard,"  when  there  was  only  a  frolicsome 
kitten  chasing  its  tail ;  and  at  such  times  he  had 
the  bad  habit  of  running  his  words  together.  He 
was  just  the  one  to  send  on  the  errand,  so  far  as 
speed  was  concerned  ;  but  when  he  burst  into  the 
doctor's  cabin,  shouting,  — 

w  Blews-sed-off !  blews-sed-off  !  "  the  slumber 
ing  man  of  herbs  prematurely  awakened,  rubbed 
his  forehead,  to  be  sure  he  was  not  dreaming,  and 
stammered,  — 


SHOOTING    DOUBLE.  27 

"  Wha-wha-what's  to  pay?  " 

"Blews-sed-off !  blews-sed  off  !  "  reiterated  the 
urchin. 

"Boy,"  said  the  doctor,  now  fully  aroused,  "be 
self-possessed  and  collected,  and  state  distinctly 
what  has  happened."  And  holding  the  lad  by 
the  shoulders,  he  added,  "Speak  very  slowly, 
that  I  may  understand  you  !  " 

"  Blew  —  his  —  head  —  off!  "  emphatically  re 
peated  Charley,  pausing  after  each  word. 

"  A  shocking  occurrence,  truly  !  "  ejaculated  the 
physician.  "I  do  not  wonder,  boy,  that  one  so 
unaccustomed  to  such  sanguinary  events  should 
be  terrified.  But  who  is  the  unfortunate  victim 
of  this  tragical  and  fatal  accident  —  or  was  he 
murdered  in  cold  blood  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Charley,  who,  in  turn,  did 
not  understand  the  doctor,  but  supposed  he  must 
assent  to  all  he  said. 

"Yes  —  what?"  sharply  asked  the  physician. 
"  Was  it,  I  say,  an  accident,  or  was  the  man  as 
sassinated?  Be  quick,  now  !" 

"  Yesir  !  "  instantly  screamed  Charley,  thinking 
the  doctor  was  now  reproving  him  for  speaking 
slowly. 

"Well,  you  are  scared  out  of  your  seven  senses, 
you  wretched  dunce  ! "  retorted  the  doctor,  out  of 
temper ;  and,  shaking  the  lad,  he  said,  "  See  if 
you  can  tell  me  now  who  it  is  that's  killed." 


28  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  It's  our  Tom  !  " 

"  And  how  do  /  know  who  your  Tom  is  ? " 
roared  the  physician.  "There's  my  Tom  ;  "  and 
he  pointed  to  a  monstrous  gray  cat  that  sat  on  an 
oak  chest  watching  the  boy  with  green-glaring 
eyes  ;  "  and  if  he  should  mistake  you  for  a  thiev 
ing  gopher  some  'fine  morning,  and  eat  you  up 
alive,  small  loss  would  it  be  to  the  world,  I'm 
thinking  ! " 

"  He's  my  brother  !  "  timidly  interposed  Charley, 
keeping  to  the  question. 

"  Your  brother  !  Well,  old  hunter,  what  do  you 
say  to  that?"  said  the  doctor,  stroking  his  dis 
agreeable  pet:  "that  dirty-faced,  uncombed,  ill- 
dressed  ignoramus  of  a  boy  claims  you  for  a 
relative.  Do  you  realize  the  honor,  eh?" 

"  I  mean  that  our  Tom  is  my  brother,"  explained 
Charley,  bursting  into  tears. 

The  doctor,  softened  by  his  distress,  asked 
more  gently,  — 

"  But  hasn't  your  Tom  any  other  name?  " 

"No,  sir,"  answered  the  boy. 

"  Well,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Charley." 

"Charley  what?" 

"  Charley  Jones." 

"  O,  I  see  !  you  belong  to  the  Jones  tribe  ;  not 
much  matter  if  all  their  heads  were  blown  off. 
But  what  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 


A    FRONTIER    DOCTOR.  29 

"Mother  wants  you  to  come  right  down  quick, 
and  make  Tom  well." 

"What !  after  his  head's  blown  off  ?  That's  a 
job,  anyhow.  Nice-looking  young  man  he'd  be 
—  wouldn't  he?  going  round,  well  as  ever,  with 
out  any  head  on  his  shoulders.  But  I  see  how  it 
is :  his  head  isn't  all  gone  —  just  a  trifle  left  — 
enough  to  grow  another  with ; "  and  the  doctor, 
now  in  good  humor,  succeeded  in  drawing  from 
the  lad  an  intelligible  account  of  the  accident, 
and  mounting  his  horse,  with  saddle-bags  behind 
him,  and  a  tin  pail  in  his  hand,  he  proceeded  to 
a  well-to-do  settler's,  and  narrating  the  accident 
with  nearly  as  much  exaggeration  as  did  little 
Charley,  he  added,  with  an  emphatic  jerk  of  his 
collar,  "  I'll  fix  the  fellow  up  so  that  he'll  be  as 
good  as  new."  He  then  begged  some  yeast,  and 
a  roll  of  cotton  batting,  and,  repairing  to  the 
Joneses,  covered  Tom's  face  with  the  cotton  dipped 
in  the  yeast,  and  returned  to  his  loggery.  Whether 
the  application  was  in  accordance  with  the  Ma- 
teria  Medica  of  orthodox  practice  or  not,  after  a 
short  time  the  pain  subsided,  and  Tom  dropped 
into  a  peaceful  sleep ;  seeing  which,  Mrs.  Jones 
went  about  her  morning's  work  with  a  thankful 
heart.  The  children  had  had  nothing  to  eat  as 
yet,  and  now  that  their  brother's  moanings  had 
ceased,  they  realized  that  they  were  hungry. 

"  Tan't  I  have  my  supper?  "  sobbed  Bub,  cling 
ing  to  his  mother's  dress  as  she  walked. 


30  THE    CABIN   ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

*  Tisn't  supper ;  it's  breakfast !  "  answered  Bob, 
giving  the  child  a  push,  which  helped  him  cry 
the  louder. 

"Cry-baby  cripsy,"  mocked  Bob,  making  ugly 
faces  at  the  little  fellow  ;  for  fasting  had  made  Bob 
quarrelsome. 

Sad-eyed  Mrs.  Jones  tried  in  vain  to  quiet  them, 
carrying  and  nursing  baby  and  preparing  the 
meal  at  the  same  time,  for  even  the  older  children 
were  cross  as  unfed  cubs.  Mrs.  Jones  was  no 
disciplinarian ;  she  was  too  broken-spirited  to 
command  her  offspring  ;  if  she  ruled  at  all,  it  was 
by  affection  and  tact.  In  this  instance  she  set 
the  older  ones  at  work.  One  she  directed  to  re 
plenish  the  fire,  another  to  wash  the  potatoes,  a 
third  to  sweep  the  floor :  a  slow  job  the  latter 
was,  as  the  "truncheon,"  or  floor  of  split  logs, 
was  jagged,  and  the  broom  worn  nearly  to  the 
handle.  She  suggested  to  Charley  to  see  if  the 
fawn  had  got  away,  which  had  the  effect  of  caus 
ing  Bub  to  go  on  the  same  mission.  This  strata 
gem,  however,  did  not  avail  much  in  the  case  of 
Charley,  who  quickly  saw  through  his  mother's 
device,  and  returned,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Pooh  !  I  guess  the  fawn's  all  right !  " 

But  Bub  found  congenial  occupation  in  teasing 
the  fawn.  The  pen  was  narrow ;  and  Bub,  not 
being  able  to  reach  the  deer,  and  tired  of  shouting 
at  him,  started  off  into  the  field  for  a  famous  long 


THE    PRAIRIE    HEN.  31 

stick  which  had  served  him  for  a  steed  the  day 
before.  As  he  looked  for  it  among  the  corn,  he 
saw  something  flutter,  then  heard  a  curious  cackle. 
It  was  a  prairie  hen,  whose  wings  had  been  broken 
by  shot  from  Tom's  gun.  The  bird  moved  pain 
fully  away,  trying  to  hide  behind  the  leafy  stalks. 
But  Bub's  bright  eyes  could  not  be  eluded,  and 
he  followed  after,  calling,  "  Chick,  chick,  chick  !  " 
mistaking  it  for  a  domestic  fowl.  The  cunning 
bird  dodged  in  and  out  among  the  standing  and 
prostrate  stacks  with  marvellous  swiftness,  con 
sidering  its  condition  ;  but  persevering  curly-pate 
seized  the  hen  at  last  by  the  neck,  saying,  exult 
antly,  — 

"  I  dot  yer  ;  now  you  'have  !  " 

The  strong  wild  fowl  struggled  desperately, 
scratching  his  chubby  hand  until  it  bled  ;  but  Bub 
trudged  on  with  his  prize  into  the  cabin,  saying, 
as  he  entered,  — 

"  See,  marm  !  I  totched  a  biddy  !  " 

The  little  captor's  entrance  was  greeted  with 
shouts  of  delight  on  the  part  of  the  children,  and 
by  a  loving  kiss  from  his  mother ;  for  Bub  was  a 
great  favorite,  and  a  manly  wee  boy,  despite  his 
loud-lunged  blubbering,  in  which  he  excelled  on 
occasions,  and  his  mischievious  pranks,  in  which 
also  he  was  the  equal  of  Bubs  of  more  civilized 
communities.  As  he  stood  in  the  cabin  door, 
coolly  holding  the  kicking  prairie  hen,  heedless 


32  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

of  its  cruel  claws,  his  torn  and  soiled  baby-frock 
surmounted  by  a  round  fat  face,  bright  blue  eyes, 
and  light  hair  falling  in  tangled  ringlets,  the 
golden  sun  resting  upon  his  bare  head  and  light 
ing  up  his  dimpled  cheek,  he  formed  a  picture 
worthy  the  pencil  of  an  artist. 

"  What  a  little  man  you  are  ! "  exclaimed  the 
mother,  taking  the  heavy  fowl  from  him.  "You 
shall  ha\«e  some  nice  breakfast  for  this  ! "  and  she 
put  a  baked  potato  and  a  piece  of  corn-cake  on 
the  corner  of  a  trunk,  and  while  Bub  with  a  satis 
fied  hum  partook  of  the  food,  she  quietly  slipped 
out  of  doors  and  wrung  the  hen's  neck. 

The  children  plied  the  little  hero  with  questions 
as  to  where  and  how  he  caught  the  hen,  which 
he  took  his  own  time  to  answer  while  he  munched. 
Then  they  rushed  out  in  a  body,  hoping  to  find 
another.  Their  search  was  successful,  and 
they  brought  back  two,  which  they  found  lying 
some  distance  apart,  quite  dead.  The  old  gun 
had  "  scattered  "  prodigiously,  but,  as  the  flock  of 
hens  was  so  large,  did  good  execution,  as  ap 
peared  from  the  result. 

Tom  was  asleep  on  his  mother's  bed,  —  which 
occupied  a  corner  of  the  one  room,  —  but,  aroused 
by  the  din  which  greeted  Bub  when  he  came  in 
with  the  "biddy,"  regarded  the  affair  quite  com 
placently,  although  he  said  nothing.  And  as  the 
hens  were  being  picked  by  'Lize  and  Sarah,  he 


THE    PRAIRIE    HEN.  33 

was  comforted  by  the  reflection  that  his  well-meant 
attempt  at  gunning  had  brought  the  family  some 
thing  to  eat.  Tom,  indeed,  had  never  seen  fowl 
prepared  for  the  household  under  just  such  cir 
cumstances,  and  he  watched  each  step  in  the 
process  with  peculiar  interest.  Mrs.  Jones,  with 
a  fond  mother's  quickness,  understood  well  how 
he  felt,  and,  though  she  seemed  not  to  notice  him, 
made  unusual  parade  in  all  that  was  done. 

"  Be  very  careful  of  those  feathers,  girls.  Why, 
how  thick  and  soft  they  are  !  We'll  save  every 
one ;  and  who  knows  but  when  Tom  gets  well 
he'll  contrive  some  traps  and  catch  hens  enough 
to  make  a  pair  of  pillows,  or  a  feather-bed?" 

"Is  a  feather-bed  very  nice?  "  asked  Sarah. 

"Very,  when  the  weather  is  cold,  and  a  body 
is  weakly,  as  Tom  is  now ;  it's  so  easy  to  rest 
upon.  There,  Eliza,  you  may  pass  me  the  one 
that  is  picked,  and  I'll  dress  it.  How  fat  it  is ! 
and  so  tender !  What  a  feast  we  shall  have  ! 
How  thankful  we  ought  to  be  that  Tom's  eyes 
were  not  put  out  when  he  shot  these  hens  !  How 
good  he  was  to  think  of  getting  them  for  us  !  I 
hope,  girls,  you'll  help  him  all  you  can,  when  he 
gets  about,  and  not  let  him  do  all  the  chores." 

Mrs.  Jones  was  very  handy  at  such  work,  and 
she  took  care  to  face  the  bed  so  that  he  might  see 
every  part  of  the  operation. 

"There's  the  heart,  and  there's  the  liver  — 
3 


34  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

sweet  as  a  nut!"  and  she  smelled  of  them  with 
the  air  of  an  epicure.  "We  must  keep  them  by 
themselves  for  the  present."  Then,  deftly  joint 
ing  the  fowl,  she  put  the  parts  to  soak  in  cold 
water,  strongly  salted.  "That  will  take  out  the 
•wild  taste,"  said  she.  "  How  I  do  wish  Tom 
could  eat  some  of  this  when  it  is  cooked,  it  will 
be  so  strengthening !  But  I  guess,  if  nothing 
happens,  the  doctor  will  let  him  have  a  taste  to 
morrow  ! " 


WHERE    CAN    HE.  BE?  35 


CHAPTER   III. 
WHERE     CAN    HE    BE? A    HEART    REVELATION. 

"WHERE  can  he  be?"  sighed  Mrs.  Jones,  as 
she  looked  anxiously  out  of  the  little  cabin  win 
dow.  Many  times  a  day  had  she  done  the  same, 
save  that  she  thought  the  question,  but  did  not 
utter  it,  as  now.  Her  husband  had  been  away 
for  more  than  a  week,  and  no  tidings  from  him. 
What  could  it  mean  ?  When  would  he  return  ? 
Had  any  evil  befallen  him?  These  and  similar 
inquiries  were  continually  arising  in  her  mind, 
filling  her  with  disquiet.  She  was  one  of  those 
singularly-constituted  persons  who  are  given  to 
presentiments,  and  who,  when  they  are  under 
the  spell  of  a  deep,  controlling  conviction  that 
something  unusual  is  to  transpire,  —  a  persua 
sion  that  comes  to  them,  not  through  reason  or 
evidence,  or  the  probabilities  of  things,  but,  as 
some  express  it,  "as  if  a  voice  had  spoken  to 
them  "  when  no  human  being  was  near,  or  by  a 
secret  whispering  to  the  soul  by  some  unseen  and 
seemingly  superhuman  authority,  —  when  she 
had  such  a  presentiment  it  never  deceived  her. 


36  THE    CABIN   ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

For  some  time  she  had  foreboded  trouble.  The 
foreboding  grew  upon  her  till  its  dark  shadow 
cast  a  gloom  upon  all  her  feelings ;  it  thrilled 
her  at  times  with  fear.  She  would  start  at  the 
veriest  trifles,  as  if  affrighted.  Particularly  at 
night  did  she  cower  under  the  feeling,  and  of 
late  it  had  been  hard  for  her  to  sleep ;  and  when 
she  slept,  it  was  wakefully  :  often  would  she  start 
up,  and  look  around  to  see  that  all  was  right, 
then  fall  asleep  again.  And  yet  she  did  not  ap 
prehend  danger  to  herself  particularly.  Some 
times  she  feared  for  her  husband ;  but  the  grow 
ing  feeling  was,  that  trouble  for  the  settlers  was 
at  hand,  and  a  terrible  fear  of  the  Indians  rested 
upon  her. 

It  was  far  into  the  night  now,  and  the  lone 
watcher  felt  too  uneasy  to  retire.  The  moon 
shone  with  great  brilliancy,  and  she  sat  without 
a  light,  busying  herself  with  some  coarse  sew 
ing.  The  children  were  peacefully  sleeping,  and 
not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  save  their  breath 
ing,  and  the  whisper  of  the  wind  outside.  The 
silence  was  painful  to  her,  and  she  arose  and 
peered  out  of  the  window  again.  Everything 
looked  weird  and  ghastly.  What  a  solitude ! 
For  miles  over  the  smooth  prairie  not  a  human 
habitation  was  to  be  seen.  In  the  other  direction 
stood  the  mysterious  forest.  How  black  and  dis 
mal  seemed  the  trunks  of  the  trees  in  the  shim- 


WHERE    CAN   HE    BE  ?  37 

mering  moonbeams  !  She  gazed  timidly  at  their 
indistinct  outlines,  with  strained  eye. 

"  How  foolish  I  am  !  "  she  murmured ;  but,  as 
she  turned  from  the  window,  her  attention  was 
fixed  once  more  upon  the  forest ;  for  it  seemed 
to  her  that  a  dark  object  moved  along  its  out 
skirts.  "It's  only  the  trees!"  she  said,  striving 
to  reassure  herself. 

But  in  a  moment  more  an  ox  appeared ;  then  a 
dark  figure  followed,  and  another,  and  another, 
walking  in  single  file.  As  the  strange  proces 
sion  emerged  more  fully  into  view,  she  saw  that 
the  forms  behind  the  Ox  were  those  of  Indians ; 
they  were  driving  off  the  settlers'  cattle.  As 
their  route  lay  near  the  cabin,  fear  that  they 
would  pay  her  a  visit,  for  a  moment  quite  para 
lyzed  her.  It  was  but  for  a  moment,  however ; 
the  instinct  of  the  mother  was  roused.  Her  chil 
dren  might  be  murdered.  She  glanced  again  at 
the  advancing  savages,  and  then,  softly  opening 
the  door,  —  which,  fortunately,  wa's  on  the  other 
side  of  the  cabin,  —  she  returned  with  the  axe, 
the  only  weapon  of  defence  at  hand,  and,  with 
flashing  eyes,  and  a  deadly  resolution  depicted 
on  her  face,  which  seemed  turned  to  marble, 
silently  awaited  the  onslaught.  But  the  savages, 
in  their  soft  moccasins,  glided  noiselessly  by,  like 
so  many  snakes.  They  did  not  appear  to  notice 
the  cabin,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight.  When 


38  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

they  were  gone,  Mrs.  Jones  sat  down,  feeling  as 
weak  as  before  she  had  felt  strong.  The  reac 
tion  was  too  great,  and,  a  faintness  coming  on, 
her  head  sank  upon  the  side  of  the  bed  where 
Tom  lay.  This  aroused  him,  and  he  called,  re 
peatedly,  — 

"Mother!  mother!" 

"Hush,"  she  whispered,  at  last;  "they'll  hear 
you  !  " 

"Who?"  whispered  Tom,  alarmed. 

The  mother  kept  perfectly  still,  listening  in 
tently,  until  satisfied  that  the  danger  was  really 
past ;  then  she  related  to  her  son  what  she  had 
seen,  and  what  her  fears  had  been. 

"But,  mother,"  said  Tom,  confidently,  "there 
are  no  signs  of  trouble  from  them.  They 
wouldn't  dare  to  attack  the  settlers ;  for  they 
have  always  been  beaten  by  the  white  man. 
Besides,  there  are  not  many  near  us.  You  see 
that  these  have  not  harmed  us ;  they  only  stole 
an  ox.  Why,  mother,  don't  you  know  that  there 
has  been  no  Indian  war  for  a  good  many  years, 
and  that  the  Indians  have  been  growing  weaker 
and  weaker  all  the  time,  and  going  farther  and 
farther  off?" 

This  was  plausible ;  and  Tom  only  expressed 
the  views  of  the  settlers.  Mrs.  Jones  knew  that 
there  was  no  reason  for  her  anxiety,  except  her 
fears,  and  she  had  not  ventured  to  express  them 


WHERE    CAN    HE    BE?  39 

to  any  one  before ;  for  she  was  aware,  such  was 
the  prevalent  feeling  on  this  subject,  that  it  would 
expose  her  to  ridicule.  But  now  she  only  shook 
her  head,  and  said,  — 

"  I  wish  your  father  was  safe  at  home." 
"Why,  mother,  you  don't  worry  about  him  — 
do  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Tom,  in  amazement.  "  The 
Indians  always  liked  him,  and  he  can  go  any 
where  over  the  prairies  and  through  the  woods 
without  guide  or  compass,  and  not  get  lost.  And 
he's  a  great  marksman,  you  know :  it  wouldn't 
do  for  an  Indian  to  get  in  the  way  of  his  rifle." 

"But,  Tom,"  said  the  mother,  taking  his  hand, 
and  suddenly  changing  the  subject,  "why  is  it 
that  you  don't  get  better  faster  ?  Your  skin  is 
real  hot,  and  you  look  feverish.  The  doctor  said 
you  ought  to  have  been  out  before  this."  Tom 
looked  down,  but  did  not  reply.  "  Tom,"  con 
tinued  she,  tenderly,  "  something  is  troubling  your 
mind.  I  have  known  it  for  some  time.  Don't 
you  love  your  mother  well  enough  to  make  her 
your  confidant?  What  is  the  matter,  my  son?" 
Still  the  lad  did  not  reply ;  but  his  heart  was 
deeply  moved  by  this  unexpected  and  loving  at 
tack  upon  the  citadel  that  held  his  secret  secure, 
as  he  had  supposed.  Soon  the  tears  began  to 
stream  from  his  eyes,  and  he  sobbed  aloud. 
Mrs.  Jones's  eyes  closed,  and  her  lips  moved 


40  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE* 

as  if  she  were  in  prayer;  upon  which  Tom,  after 
she  had  ceased,  asked,  softly,  — 

"  Mother,  are  you  a  Christian?  " 

"That  is  a  serious  question,  my  son,"  said  she. 
"  I  sometimes  hope  that  I  am  one ;  but  it  is  a 
great  thing  to  be  a  true  follower  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  But  why  do  you  ask?" 

"  O,"  replied  he,  embarrassed,  "  I  don't  just 
know  why.  I  know  you're  good  enough  to  be  a 
Christian ;  but  you  never  spoke  to  us  children 
about  it,  and  —  I  didn't  know  what  to  think." 

Mrs.  Jones  seemed  pained  by  the  answer,  and 
said,  — 

"  Tom,  I  know  I  have  been  negligent  in  this 
matter."  Then  she  added,  hesitatingly,  "But 
your  father  does  not  feel  as  I  do  about  it ;  and  I 
have  scarcely  felt  like  instructing  the  children  con 
trary  to  his  views.  I  have  ever  tried  to  please 
him  in  everything ;  perhaps  I  have  carried  this 
too  far." 

"Mother,  were  you  praying  just  now?" 

"Yes,"  said  she,  hesitatingly. 

"  And  were  you  praying  for  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  son." 

Tom  was  silent  for  a  while,  and  then  said,  — 

"Mother,  since  I  heard  the  preacher,  I  have 
many  times  wished  I  were  a  Christian ;  that  is, 
if —  if —  the  Bible  is  true.  But  there  are  some 


A    HEART    REVELATION.  4! 

things  that  I  don't  understand,  and  they  are  right 
in  my  way." 

"What  are  they,  Tom?"  He  colored,  and 
said,  — 

"I  don't  like  to  tell  you,  for  I  am  afraid  you 
will  think  me  very  bad.  But  I  thought  some 
time  I  would  like  to  ask  some  one  about  it  who 
knows  more  than  I  do.  You  believe  that  there 
is  a  God,  mother  ?  " 

"With  all  my  heart." 

"And  that  he  is  pleased  with  those  who  do 
good,  and  angry  with  those  who  do  wrong?" 

"Certainly,  Tom." 

"Well,  it  seems  hard,  if  this  is  true,  that  he 
should  let  me  get  hurt  so  the  other  morning, 
as  I  was  trying  to  shoot  the  hens  for  you, 
and  you  needed  them  so  much,  when  there's 
Jo  Priest,  and  ever  so  many  more,  swearing, 
ugly  fellows,  that  go  a  gunning  almost  all  the 
time,  and  kill  things  just  for  the  fun  of  it,  and 
they  get  plenty  of  game,  and  never  get  injured  ;  " 
and  the  lad  spoke  bitterly. 

"  My  child,"  said  the  mother,  "  there  are  many 
things  hard  to  be  understood  about  God's  deal 
ings  with  us,  and  I  am  afraid  that  a  great  part 
of  them  seem  harder  than  they  really  are,  be 
cause  we  are  so  ignorant.  But  you  know  how  I 
am  situated.  I  don't  hear  any  preaching,  nor 
see  those  that  do,  very  often ;  and  it's  not  to  be 


42  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

expected  that  I  can  clear  up  these  things,  as  they 
can." 

"I  wish,"  interrupted  Tom,  petulantly,  "that 
the  preacher  was  here.  I'd  like  to  ask  him  ;  but 
perhaps  he  wouldn't  like  to  talk  with  a  poor  igno 
rant  boy  like  me." 

"  Well,"  continued  the  mother,  "  I  know  here" 
—  and  she  placed  her  hand  upon  her  heart  — 
"  that  all  God  does  is  just  right,  however  dark  it 
seems,  and  that  satisfies  me." 

Tom  was  impressed  by  his  mother's  faith,  but 
soon  objected, — 

"Mother,  do  you  think  we  can  always  trust 
our  feelings?  You  said  a  little  while  ago  that 
you  felt  that  there  would  be  trouble  with  the  In 
dians  ;  but  nobody  expects  that.  And  now  you 
say  that  you  feel  that  all  God  does  is  right. 
Now,  if  you  are  wrong  about  the  Indians,  and 
about  father's  being  in  danger  from  them,  how 
can  you  be  sure  that  your  feelings  are  right  about 
God?" 

"Tom,"  replied  she,  "I  have  a  great  many 
impressions  that  come  to  nothing.  But  there  are 
some  that  never  do.  And  I  know  that  God  does 
right ;  for  I  feel  that  he  does ;  and,  Tom,  we 
shall  see  about  the  Indians ; "  and  she  sighed 
heavily,  and  rose,  and  gazed  long  and  earnestly 
off  over  the  prairie,  and  towards  the  woods. 


A   HEART    REVELATION.  43 

Then,  seating  herself  on  the  bed-side,  she  said, 
gently,  — 

"  My  son,  you  haven't  told  me  all  your  troubles 
yet.  Hadn't  you  better  hold  nothing  back  from 
me?" 

The  lad  turned  away  at  this,  deeply  touched 
again  ;  "  for/'  thought  he,  "  her  feelings  are  right 
about  me ;  perhaps  they  are  about  God ; "  and 
her  persevering  and  delicate  solicitude  pierced  his 
very  soul. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  at  length,  struggling  with 
emotion,  "  I  don't  want  to  grow  up  ignorant  and 
useless.  And  I  don't  want  the  children  and  us 
all  to  be  so  poor  and  despised ;  "  and  the  tears 
came  again,  and  the  mother's  mingled  with  his. 
"  I  can't  bear  to  have  it  so,  and  I  -won't?  he 
added,  rising  in  bed,  and  speaking  with  excited 
energy. 

"Ah,  my  poor  child,"  said  the  mother,  "  I  knew 
it  was  that  that  lay  on  your  mind,  and  took  away 
your  appetite,  and  made  you  so  unhappy.  And 
I  have  been  praying  for  a  long  while  that  you 
might  feel  so." 

"  You  didn't  want  me  to  be  miserable  — did  you, 
mother?  "  asked  Tom,  in  surprise. 

"God  forbid,  Tom.  But  I  couldn't  wish  you 
to  grow  up  contented  with  such  a  life.  I  have 
felt  that  you  might  do  a  great  deal  of  good  in  the 
world,  and  I  wished  you  to  see  it." 


44  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  But,  mother,  how  can  I  have  things  differ 
ent?" 

"Tom, "returned  she,  looking  searchingly  at  him, 
"  how  have  you  thought  to  make  them  different  ?  " 
The  boy  averted  his  face  again,  and  made  no 
reply  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  softly,  — 

"  I  had  decided  to  go  away  and  get  learning, 
and  earn  my  living,  and  try  to  be  somebody." 

"And  when  did  you  think  of  starting?" 

"The  morning,"  answered  he,  with  an  un 
steady  voice,  "  that  I  got  hurt  with  the  gun." 

"  And  were  you  going  off  without  letting  me 
know  it,  Tom?" 

"Yes,  mother;  but  I  expected  to  write  back, 
and  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"Torn,"  returned  the  mother,  tenderly,  "you 
asked  me,  a  little  while  ago,  why  it  was  that 
God  let  you  get  hurt  that  morning  when  you  were 
trying  to  kill  the  hens  for  the  family,  while  those 
bad  boys  go  uninjured.  I  believe  God's  ways 
were  right  in  this.  Why,  my  dear  child,  you  are 
better  to  me,  and  more  necessary  to  me,  at  pres 
ent,  than  many  prairie  hens  ;  and  you  might  have 
harmed  yourself  more  by  going  from  home  than 
you  were  by  the  powder.  You  meant  it  well, 
Tom ;  but  you  reasoned  about  going  away,  just 
as  you  reasoned  about  God's  dealings  with  you, 
like  a  child.  Tom,  you  are  necessary  now  to 
my  comfort,  and  perhaps  my  life.  I  am  not 


A   HEART    REVELATION.  45 

over  strong,  and  any  great  trouble  might  be  too 
much  for  me.  I  am  afraid  nights  now,  but  I  feel 
safer  when  you  are  here.  And  you  help  me  a 
great  deal  about  house,  and  in  the  care  of  the 
children.  Your  father  is  away  so  much  I  have 
to  depend  on  you.  And  what  if,  when  you  are 
away,  the  cabin  should  take  fire,  —  and  you  know 
our  stove  is  none  of  the  tightest,  —  or  if  we  should 
have  trouble  with  the  savages  ?  And  who  would 
get  the  wood  up  for  us  during  the  cold  winter  that 
is  coming?  God  took  too  good  care  of  us,  Tom, 
to  let  you  forsake  us  that  morning.  Besides, 
Tom,  you  wouldn't  have  succeeded." 

"Why  not?  "  asked  Tom,  faintly. 

"You  hadn't  decent  clothes  to  go  in,  nor  any 
recommendations.  Your  life  had  been  very 
different  from  that  you  proposed  to  enter  upon, 
and  you  hadn't  a  cent  of  money  to  help  you  on 
your  way.  The  chances  were,  that  you  would 
have  suffered,  and,  instead  of  helping  us,  as  you 
do  now,  you  would  have  been  a  source  of  sor 
row,  anxiety,  and  expense  to  us.  Is  it  not  so?" 
Tom  saw  that  his  mother  understood  the  case ; 
but  his  heart  sank  as  his  air-castle  fell,  and  he 
wept  anew.  "  But  do  not  misunderstand  me, 
Tom,  as  you  did  God's  dealings  with  you.  What 
I  say  brings  to  you  a  great  disappointment.  It 
seems  almost  cruel  in  me  thus  to  cut  off  your 
hopes  of  being  something  better  in  the  world. 


46  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

Tom,  it  does  not  follow,  because  you  were  go 
ing  too  soon,  and  God  permitted  an  accident  to 
stop  you,  that  the  time  may  never  come  for  you 
to  realize  your  hopes  so  far  as  they  are  right. 
You  say  you  wish  to  be  useful.  You  are  useful 
now,  very  useful.  Be  contented  to  help  at  home 
for  the  present,  and  God  will,  I  doubt  not,  open 
something  better  for  you  in  his  own  good  time." 
And,  kissing  him,  she ^  lay  down  upon  her  bed 
for  a  short  nap  before  the  day  should  break. 


A   BRUSH   WITH   INDIANS.  47 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A   BRUSH   WITH    INDIANS.  A   BLACK   HEART. 

"  HELLO  !  Let  me  in,  I  say.  Are  you  all 
dead  ?  "  and  a  strong  hand  shook  the  door. 

Mrs.  Jones  rubbed  her  eyes,  for  she  had  over 
slept  herself;  and  as  the  children  depended  on 
her  to  awaken  them  in  the  morning,  they  were 
sleeping  too.  Hastening  to  the  door,  she  undid 
the  fastening,  and  her  husband  entered. 

"  Is  that  you,  Joseph?"  she  asked. 

"It  isn't  anybody  else,  I  reckon,"  he  gruffly 
answered;  "but  where  shall  I  put  this?"  taking 
a  quarter  of  venison  from  his  shoulder,  which  his 
wife  hung  against  the  wall  on  a  wooden  peg. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  got  back,  Joseph." 

"  Well  you  might  be,  for  you  came  near  never 
seeing  me  again." 

"  I  hope  you  haven't  met  with  any  mishap," 
said  the  wife,  anxiously. 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of,  only  a  scratch  from  the 
bullet  of  one  of  them  rascally  red-skins." 

"  Why,  you  haven't  been  fighting  with  the  In 
dians  —  have  you  ?  " 


48  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  Not  exactly,"  he  answered ;  "  I've  always 
treated  them  well ;  but  after  this,  if  any  of  'em  get 
in  my  way,  I  shall  pop  at  'em  before  they  do  at 
me ;  that's  all." 

"  But  how  did  they  happen  to  shoot  at  you  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Jones. 

"Well,"  said  her  husband,  "just  give  me  some 
thing  to  put  on  my  side,  for  it's  a  grain  sore  after 
my  long  tramp,  and  cook  us  a  venison  steak,  and 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  it; "  and  Mr.  Jones,  pulling 
open  his  hunting-shirt,  showed  an  ugly-looking 
flesh  wound  in  his  side. 

"  Dear  me,  Joseph,  you  are  hurt,"  said  the  wife, 
as  she  carefully  bandaged  it,  putting  on  a  simple 
salve,  which  she  always  kept  on  hand  for  family 
use.  M  You  look  tired  and  pale  —  bringing  home 
such  a  load,  and  bleeding  all  the  way.  Sit  down, 
and  I'll  get  you  something  to  eat  directly." 

Scarcely  had  he  seated  himself,  when  there 
was  a  cry  of  pain  from  Tom,  and  Bub  came 
tumbling  head  first  upon  the  floor ;  for,  having 
seen  his  father,  he  had  scrambled,  without  cere 
mony,  across  Tom's  sore  face,  and  receiving  a 
push  from  the  latter,  landed  upon  his  nose. 

By  this  time  the  rest  of  the  children  were 
awake,  and  shouting,  "  Dad's  come  home  !  "  while 
Bub  bellowed  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  "  My  nose 
beeds  !  my  nose  beeds  !  " 

"  O,  no,  it  don't,"  replied  his  mother,  soothingly. 


A  BRUSH   WITH   INDIANS.  49 

"Well,  it  feels  ived,  it  does!"  he  answered, 
determined  to  be  pitied. 

This  remark  elicited  peals  of  laughter  from  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  which  Bub  taking  as  in 
sults,  he  roared  the  louder. 

"Children,"  cried  Mrs.  Jones,  "stop  laughing 
at  Bub." 

But  he  cut  too  comical  a  figure  for  them  to  stop 
at  once,  for,  as  he  had  used,  the  night  before,  one 
of  Tom's  old  shirts  for  a  night  dress,  he  now  found 
it  difficult  to  move  towards  his  father,  as  each 
time  he  stepped  the  garment  would  trip  his  feet. 

"Children,"  interposed  Mr.  Jones,  "why  don't 
you  hush.  Your  marm's  spoken  to  you  a  number 
of  times  already." 

At  which  Bub  added  with  dignity,  as  he  tried 
to  balance  himself,  — 

"  I  des  they're  blind^  they're  so  hard  o'  hearin' !  " 

"Your  father,"  said  the  mother,  impressively, 
"has  been  shot  at  by  the  Indians,  and  came  very 
near  being  killed,  and  you  ought  to  keep  more 
quiet." 

"Did  they  kill  you,  daddy?"  asked  Bub,  who 
now  stood  at  his  father's  knee,  his  blue  eyes  wide 
with  wonder ;  "  tause,  if  they  did,  I'll  stick  my  big 
stick  into  their  backs." 

There  was  a  suppressed  tittering  at  this,  for 
which  the  children  felt  half  ashamed,  considering 
the  startling  intelligence  they  had  just  heard. 
4 


50  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  Mother  was  afraid  you'd  have  trouble  with 
the  Indians,"  observed  Tom,  "  and  she  was  so 
much  worried  that  she  didn't  sleep  last  night." 

"Why,  the  Indians  haven't  been  doing  any 
mischief  about  here  —  have  they?"  asked  his 
father. 

"No,"  replied  Tom,  "and  I  told  mother  that 
there  wasn't  any  danger." 

But  the  venison  was  filling  the  cabin  with  its 
savory  smell,  and  Mrs.  Jones  said,  — 

"  Hurry,  children,  and  get  washed  and  dressed 
for  breakfast." 

And  going  to  the  basin,  which  was  in  its  place 
on  the  wash-bench  outside  the  door,  with  much 
discussion  as  to  who  should  have  the  first  chance, 
hands  and  faces  were  treated  to  a  hasty  bath. 

Mr.  Jones  was  about  forty-five  years  of  age  — 
a  short,  thick-set  man,  with  dark  hair  and  heavy 
beard.  He  was  a  man  of  much  natural  ability, 
and  exhibited  singular  contrasts  in  character  and 
speech.  The  free  and  easy  carriage,  and  quaint 
language  of  the  "  Leather-stocking,"  sat  easily 
upon  him ;  and  yet,  at  times,  he  would  express 
himself  in  words  well  chosen,  and  even  elegant. 
He  hated  society,  and  was  despised  by  the  set 
tlers  for  his  lack  of  enterprise ;  and  yet,  when 
circumstances  drew  him  out,  they  were  wonder- 
struck  at  the  variety  and  accuracy  of  his  informa 
tion.  These  inconsistencies  made  him  a  mystery  ; 


A   BRUSH    WITH    INDIANS.  51 

and  he  was  looked  down  upon,  and  looked  up 
to,  as  his  neighbors  came  in  contact  with  one  or 
the  other  side  of  his  characteristics.  In  all,  too, 
that  pertained  to  the  habits  of  the  animals,  and 
the  appearance  of  the  country,  no  one  was  so 
well  posted  as  he.  He  was  built  for  physical 
endurance,  was  cool  and  courageous  in  danger, 
but  could  not  confine  himself  to  regular  employ 
ment,  bodily  or  mental. 

"Isn't  Tom  coming  to  breakfast?"  inquired 
Mr.  Jones,  as  the  rest  of  the  children  were  greedi 
ly  helping  themselves  from  the  plate  of  meat. 

So  the  mother  related  how  Tom  had  been  hurt, 
and  then  said,  — 

"  But  you  haven't  told  us  how  you  received 
your  injury  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  as  he  pushed  away 
his  plate,  having  satisfied  his  appetite,  "  I  had 
started  for  the  lake,  hearing  that  there  was  a  good 
many  wild  geese  and  other  sorts  of  game  there, 
and  the  prospect  was,  that  we  should  make  a  pretty 
big  thing  of  it ;  but  the  afternoon  after  we  reached 
the  pond,  and  was  looking  about  a  little,  Davis 
and  I  were  crossing  a  prairie,  and  had  come  in 
sight  of  a  grove,  and  says  I  to  him,  '  You  just  go 
round  on  the  other  side  of  the  thicket,  and  I'll  go 
in  on  this,  and  if  there's  any  deer  in  there,  one 
of  us  '11  start  them  out.'  Well,  I'd  got  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  trees,  when,  the  first  I  knew,  I 


52  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

heard  the  crack  of  a  rifle,  and  a  bullet  came  sing 
ing  through  my  side.  Says  I  to  myself,  '  That's  a 
red-skin's  compliments  ! '  and  making  believe  that 
I  was  a  gorner,  I  pitched  forward  and  lay  still  as 
a  door  nail,  in  the  tall  grass.  I  hadn't  lain  there 
more'n  a  minute,  when,  sure  enough,  a  red-skin 
popped  out  from  behind  a  tree  close  by,  and  made 
for  me,  to  take  my  scalp.  I  had  my  revolver 
ready,  and  when  he  was  within  a  few  feet  of  me, 
I  just  let  daylight  through  him ;  and  as  he  fell, 
not  knowing  how  many  more  of  the  scamps  might 
be  about,  I  dragged  myself  along  to  the  side  of 
the  lake,  where  I  found  Davis  waiting  for  me, — 
for  he  had  seen  the  whole  thing,  —  and  creeping 
around  to  the  other  side  under  the  banks,  wre  made 
tracks  for  home.  Why  under  the  sun  the  feller 
didn't  put  the  bullet  through  my  heart,  I  can't  make 
out,  for  I  never  knew  one  of  'em  to  miss,  when, 
he  was  so  near  as  that,  and  had  a  fair  aim." 

Mrs.  Jones  then  knew  why  her  heart  was  so 
burdened  on  his  account  at  the  very  hour  of  his 
marvellous  escape  from  death. 

But  their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a 
settler  who  called  to  ask  if  they  had  seen  anything 
of  a  stray  pair  of  cattle. 

"Ah,  neighbor  Allen,  is  that  you?"  said  Mr. 
Jones,  going  to  speak  to  the  caller,  who  sat  upon 
his  horse  before  the  door. 

"Ah,  Jones,  when  did  you  git  back?  and  what 


A    BRUSH    WITH    INDIANS.  53 

luck?"     rejoined    the    horseman    in    a    hearty 
way. 

"Got  a  taste  of  venison,"  replied  Mr.  Jones, 
w  and  had  a  brush  with  the  Injins." 

"Ah,  ha  !  the  red  scamps  want  to  smell  powder 
again  —  do  they?  Well,  I'm  ready  for  them,  for 
one,  and  I  have  seven  boys  not  an  inch  shorter 
than  I  am,  and  as  good  with  the  rifle  as  the  best, 
who  would  like  a  sight  at  the  varmints.  But  if 
none  of  your  folks  have  seen  any  stray  cattle 
about  the  diggins,  I  must  be  going.  Fact  is,  I 
reckon  they've  been  driv  off  by  some  thievish 
villain." 

"What  sort  of  cattle  were  yours?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Jones. 

"  One  was  red,  and  the  other  was  a  brindle." 

"  Was  the  red  one  very  large,  with  very  wide- 
spreading  horns?" 

"  That's  the  ticket,"  said  the  man. 

"  I  saw  such  a  one  last  night,  going  down  that 
way,  by  our  cabin." 

"  You  did  ?     Was  Brindle  follerin'  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  she,  "  but  some  men  were  driving 
him." 

"They  were  Indians  !  "  cried  Tom,  excitedly. 

But  Mrs.  Jones  fell,  to  scraping  the  tin  pan  she 
held  in  one  hand,  with  a  case-knife,  and  drowned 
his  words,  so  that  they  did  not  hear,  while  she 
motioned  to  him  to  be  silent. 


54  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

The  caller  sat  thinking  a  moment.  His  hair 
was  silver-white,  but  his  face  was  youthful  and 
ruddy  ;  and  his  massive,  well-knit  frame  indicated 
remarkable  physical  strength.  He  was  a  bold 
and  athletic  man,  skilful  with  the  rifle,  and  a  lineal 
descendant  of  the  revolutionary  hero  whose  name 
he  bore,  and  whose  fighting  characteristics  were 
reproduced  in  him. 

"  What  time  was  the  ox  driv  by?  "  he  asked. 

"  About  twelve,  I  should  think,"  said  she. 

"  Were  the  men  afoot  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  they'll  have  to  travel  fast  to  git  away 
from  me  !  And  if  I  catch  'em  —  "  But  the  re 
mainder  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the  distance, 
for  the  old  man  had  already  touched  the  trail  of  the 
stolen  ox,  and,  dismounting,  examined  carefully 
the  ground,  then  fiercely  shouting,  "  Indians  ! " 
drove  on  at  full  speed. 

When  he  had  gone,  Mr.  Jones  turned  to  his 
wife,  and  asked,  — 

"  Did  you  see  the  men  that  driv  the  ox  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  on  earth  didn't  you  say  so,  then?" 

"  Husband,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "the  trouble  will 
come  soon  enough ;  and  I  was  hoping  Mr.  Allen 
would  never  find  out  who  took  his  cattle.  If  he 
shoots  one  Indian,  it  will  bring  hundreds  of  them 


A    BRUSH    WITH    INDIANS.  55 

upon  the  settlements,  and  we  shall  have  dreadful 
times  ! " 

w  Fush  !  "  returned  the  husband ;  "  Allen  is  good 
for  a  dozen  Indians,  and  there  are  plenty  more 
of  us  to  help  him.  But  don't  you  be  scared ;  the 
red-skins  know  us  too  well  to  risk  a  fight.  They'll 
only  prowl  around  and  steal  a  little  beef,  and 
shoot  at  a  fellar  unaware,  from  under  kiver  — 
that's  all  they'll  venter  on  —  you  can  depend  on 
that ! "  Then  he  took  down  his  rifle,  cleaned 
and  loaded  it,  and  saying,  "  I  guess  I'll  go  along 
a  piece ;  perhaps  Allen  '11  come  across  the  var 
mints  afore  he's  aware,"  with  a  quick  step  he  was 
soon  hidden  from  view. 

The  news  of  the  accident  that  had  happened 
to  Tom,  and  that  Mr.  Jones  had  been  shot  at  by 
the  Indians,  spread  rapidly,  with  many  exaggera 
tions  ;  for  the  inhabitants  of  a  new  country,  being 
mutually  dependent,  feel  a  special  personal  inter 
est  in  whatever  befalls  each  other.  Besides,  there 
are  not  such  distinctions  as  obtain  in  the  old,  settled 
portions  of  the  country,  and  they  become  well 
acquainted  with  one  another's  affairs.  Moreover, 
the  doctor,  as  he  went  his  rounds,  gave  a  flaming 
account  of  the  injury  that  his  patient  at  the  cabin 
had  sustained,  and  painted  in  glowing  colors  the 
magical  effects  of  his  professional  services.  If 
he  did  not  assert  in  so  many  words  that  Tom's 
head  was  actually  blown  from  his  body,  and  that 


56  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

he  replaced  it  so  that  it  was  on  better  than  before, 
he  gave  the  impression  that  something  as  extraor 
dinary  had  been  achieved  by  his  medical  and 
surgical  skill.  And  through  the  day  quite  a  num 
ber  called  to  satisfy  their  curiosity,  or  show  their 
sympathy.  It  proved,  therefore,  quite  an  occa 
sion  for  the  Jones  children,  and  they  feasted  their 
eyes  and  ears  to  their  hearts'  content.  As  for  the 
mother,  weary  of  the  unwonted  interruptions, 
and  wishing  to  commune  with  her  own  heart, 
she  willingly  bade  the  last  visitor  "  good  by,"  and, 
calling  Robert,  she  directed  him  to  bring  in  some 
wood  and  make  a  fire,  that  she  might  fry  some 
cakes  for  tea.  Robert  proceeded  with  alacrity 
to  do  this,  the  other  children  helping  him  in  the 
task,  the  prospect  of  the  cakes  being  the  quicken 
ing  principle.  Robert  filled  the  grate  with  dry 
wood,  and,  proceeding  to  light  it,  the  room  was 
soon  dense  with  smoke.  This,  however,  was  no 
new  experience,  as  the  blackened  walls  of  the 
cabin  testified.  But  soon  the  smoke  had  meas 
urably  cleared  away,  and  the  tea-kettle  sent  up 
volumes  of  steam,  and  Mrs.  Jones,  taking  some 
meal  from  her  frugal  stock,  poured  boiling  water 
upon  it,  and  added  some  salt.  Then  putting  on 
the  griddle  some  deer  fat,  she  put  the  dough  in 
large  iron  spoonfuls  into  the  sputtering  grease. 

"Your  father  will  relish  these,"  said  she  to  the 
children,  who  stood  in  solid  ranks   around  the 


A   STRANGER.  57 

stove,  watching  her  with  interest.  And  having 
taken  off  the  last  cake,  she  set  the  heaping  plate 
in  the  open  oven  to  keep  warm  till  her  husband 
came. 

"  I  guess  pa's  coming  now,"  said  Sarah,  who, 
anxious  to  get  to  eating,  had  looked  out  to  see  if 
he  was  in  sight.  "  No  ;  it  isn't  he,  either ;  I  don't 
know  who  it  is.  How  nicely  dressed  he  is  ! " 

At  the  latter  exclamation  the  family  urchins 
rushed  in  a  body  through  the  door,  upsetting 
Sarah  in  their  eagerness  to  see  the  wonder. 

A  gentlemanly,  middled-aged  man  in  black, 
with  gold  spectacles  and  pleasant  countenance, 
approached. 

Accustomed  to  the  plainly-attired  specimens  of 
humanity  that  do  the  hard  work  of  the  frontier, 
the  children,  overawed  by  his  appearance,  shrank 
behind  cabin  and  pigsty,  in  spite  of  his  kindly 
invitations  to  stay,  where  they  peeped  at  him  in 
open-mouthed  astonishment. 

"  Mrs.  Jones,  I  presume,"  said  he,  bowing,  as, 
abashed,  she  answered  his  polite  rap  on  the  door 
frame. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  wondering  how  he  knew 
her  name. 

Entering,  without  being  asked,  —  for  Mrs. 
Jones  was  too  confused  to  think  of  it,  —  he 
said,  — 

"  I  heard  that  your  son  had  met  with  an  injury, 


58  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

and  as  I  was  looking  up  children  for  the  Sabbath 
school  we  are  to  organize  next  Sunday,  I  thought 
I  would  step  in  and  see  how  he  was,  and  how 
many  of  your  little  ones  could  attend." 

"  It  is  the  missionary,"  whispered  Tom,  as  his 
mother  nervously  smoothed  the  bed-clothes. 

The  good  minister  heard  the  remark,  and  not 
appearing  to  notice  the  mother's  embarrassment, 
stepped  to  Tom's  side,  and  in  a  way  that  made 
both  mother  and  son  feel  at  ease,  said,  — 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  seriously  hurt,  my  lad." 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Tom,  grateful  for  his  thought 
ful  kindness.  "  My  face  was  burnt  pretty  badly 
by  the  powder ;  but  it's  nearly  well  now,  and  the 
black  is  coming  off  nicely." 

"  How  did  you  contrive  to  get  hurt  so,  at  this 
season  of  the  year?  Boys  sometimes  get  burned 
with  powder  on  Independence  Day.  I  once  met 
with  such  an  accident  myself." 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  "  Tom  ventured  to  inquire, 
for  he  loved  dearly  to  hear  a  story. 

"  It  was  when  I  was  about  fourteen,"  replied 
the  minister.  "  I  was  a  wide-awake  little  good- 
for-nothing,  and  had  for  some  weeks  saved  up 
my  pennies  to  celebrate  the  Fourth  with.  I 
bought  me  a  half*  pound  of  powder,  and  a  little 
iron  cannon,  on  wheels,  and,  as  you  may  believe, 
anticipated  a  jolly  time.  I  had  decided,  the  night 
before,  to  commence  the  day  with  a  grand  salute ; 


INDEPENDENCE    DAY.  59 

and  that  it  might  produce  the  greatest  effect,  I 
crept  softly  down  in  my  stocking  feet,  by  my 
parents'  bed-room  into  the  front  hall,  before  day 
light,  and  having  loaded  my  little  gun  to  the 
muzzle  the  evening  before,  I  touched  it  off.  It 
made  a  great  noise,  I  assure  you  —  all  the  louder, 
of  course,  because  it  was  in  the  house  ;  then,  slip 
ping  on  my  shoes,  I  went  into  the  streets,  leaving 
the  old  folks  to  go  to  sleep  again  if  they  could. 
My  first  use  of  the  powder,  you  see,  did  no  harm 
to  me,  unless  it  made  me  careless.  When  I 
got  into  the  street,  I  found  crowds  of  boys  and 
men  were  there  before  me,  making  all  the  noise 
they  could,  firing  off  crackers,  pistols,  and  guns, 
and  making  the  foggy  morning  air  resound  with 
the  music  of  tin  horns  and  drums.  Meeting  a 
boy  with  a  large  horse-pistol,  I  bought  it  of  him 
at  a  foolishly  high  price,  and  banged  away  with 
that  till  breakfast  time.  At  the  eastern  extremity 
of  the  city,  where  I  then  lived,  was  a  high  hill, 
called  Munjoy,  on  which  the  soldiers  were  to 
encamp  that  day ;  and  after  eating  a  hurried  meal, 
I  went  there.  Scores  of  white  tents  were  pitched, 
occupied  by  men  who  sold  all  sorts  of  tempting 
eatables,  while  thousands  of  men,  women,  and 
children  walked  about.  It  was  an  exciting  scene 
to  me.  The  hill,  indeed,  was  a  glorious  spot, 
for  it  overlooked  the  city  on  the  one  side,  with  its 
thousands  of  buildings  and  shaded  streets,  and 


60  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

on  the  other  the  harbor,  with  its  shipping  and 
wharves,  and  lovely  islands,  while  the  ocean 
stretched  away  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach." 

"  I  never  saw  the  ocean,"  interrupted  Tom. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  it  resembles.  You 
have  looked  for  miles  and  miles  over  the  prairie 
—  I  mean  a  rolling  prairie,  that  in  gentle  swells 
of  land  extends  till  the  sky  shuts  down  upon  it?" 

"  O,  yes,"  answered  Tom. 

"  Well,  imagine  that  prairie  turned  to  water, 
so  deep  that  you  could  not  touch  bottom  with  the 
longest  line  you  ever  saw,  —  the  ocean  would 
look  so ;  only  remember  that  it  is  always  in  mo 
tion  —  ebbing,  and  flowing,  and  roaring,  and 
dashing  against  the  land  and  the  rocks,  its  waves 
sometimes  running  very  high,  topped  off  with  a 
white  foam." 

"  O,"  said  Tom,  earnestly,  "  if  I  could  only 
once  see  it !  " 

The  minister  studied  Tom's  expressive  face  a 
moment,  and  then  said,  — 

"  Perhaps  you  may,  some  day.  But  I  was 
going  to  tell  you  how  I  got  hurt.  I  had  ex 
ploded  all  the  powder,  and  was  about  tired  of 
the  pistol,  —  for  you  know  such  things  don't 
satisfy  a  great  while,  after  all,  —  when  I  came 
across  some  boys  who  were  making  volcanoes. 
Volcanoes,  you  know,  are  burning  mountains. 
They  took  some  powder,  wet  it,  worked  it  with 


A    BLACK    HEART.  6 1 

their  fingers  into  miniature  hills,  then  put  one  end 
of  a  strip  of  match-paper  in  the  top  of  each,  and 
lighted  the  other  end  of  the  paper ;  this  would 
burn  slowly  down  into  the  top  of  the  powder-hill ; 
that  would  take  fire  and  send  up  showers  of  sparks 
for  quite  a  while,  as  it  gradually  consumed.  This 
amusement  fascinated  me.  So,  buying  a  quarter 
of  a  pound  of  powder,  I  made  a  hill  like  those 
I  had  seen,  and  lighted  the  match-paper  as  I  saw 
them  light  theirs ;  but  when  it  had  burnt  all 
away,  the  hill  did  not  burn.  Thinking,  there 
fore,  I  had  put  too  much  water  in  mine,  I  stooped 
down  and  poured  on  from  the  paper  some  dry 
powder.  In  an  instant  it  ignited  from  a  smoulder 
ing  spark,  exploding  also  the  contents  of  the 
paper  which  I  held  in  my  hand.  My  face  was 
dreadfully  burned,  and  became  as  black  as  a 
negro's." 

"  So  did  mine,"  said  Tom ;  "  but  it  is  coming 
off  nicely  now." 

"  So  I  see,"  returned  the  minister,  laughing ; 
"  and  I  dare  say  you  worried  almost  as  much 
about  the  black  as  you  did  about  the  burn" 

"  Tom  feared  it  would  never  come  off,"  said 
the  mother. 

"  Ah,  that's  just  the  way  I  felt.  But  I  have 
found  out  since  that  there's  something  worse  than 
a  black  face." 

"What's  that?  "asked  Tom. 


62  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

w  A  black  heart !  "  replied  the  minister. 

"  A  black  heart !  "  repeated  Tom,  in  doubt  of 
his  meaning. 

"  Yes,  my  lad.  What  I  mean  is  a  heart  black 
ened  by  sin.  Ah,  if  folks  worried  more  about 
that,  and  less  about  their  looks,  how  much  more 
sensible  it  would  be  ! "  Then,  after  a  pause,  he 
said, — 

"  But  there  is  one  thing  for  which  we  should  be 
very  grateful ;  and  that  is,  that  as  there  are  reme 
dies  for  us  when  we  injure  the  body,  and  disfigure 
it,  —  as  we  did  our  faces,  my  son,  —  that  can  heal 
the  injury,  and  bring  the  skin  out  all  fresh  and 
fair,  so  there  is  a  great  Physician,  who  can  heal 
the  hurt  which  sin  has  done  our  souls,  and  cause 
them  to  be  pure  and  white  forever.  Isn't  that  a 
glorious  thought?" 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Tom,  weeping. 

"Yes,"  ejaculated  the  mother,  with  deep  emo 
tion. 

"  But,"  said  the  minister,  "  how  many  of  these 
little  folks  "  —  for  most  of  the  children  had  ven 
tured  in,  and  stood  listening  spell-bound  to  his 
recital  — "  will  come  to  Sunday  school  next 
Sunday?"  And  getting  a  promise  that  as  many 
of  them  would  be  there  as  possible,  he  took  leave, 
saying  he  hoped  to  call  again  soon. 

The  children's  hearts  were  taken  captive  by 
their  clerical  visitor.  And  well  it  might  be  so, 


A   SURPRISE.  63 

for  he  was  their  true  friend.  And  it  mattered 
little  to  him  that  their  dwelling  was  rude  and 
comfortless,  their  clothing  old  and  worn,  and  their 
manners  uncultured.  He  loved  them  for  his 
Master's  sake,  and  for  their  souls'  sake  :  for  this 
he  had  left  the  elegances  of  his  eastern  home, 
and  come  out  into  the  wilderness.  He  was  a  true 
man,  and  a  true  minister  of  Jesus  Christ  —  seek 
ing  not  a  name,  wealth,  luxury,  the  favor  of  the 
rich  and  great,  but  to  bring  the  straying  lambs 
and  sheep  into  the  fold. 

"I  think  we  won't  wait  any  longer  for  your 
father,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  after  the  children  had 
got  somewhat  over  the  excitement  caused  by  the 
missionary's  call ;  and  putting  her  hand  into  the 
oven  to  take  from  thence  the  plate  of  cakes,  she 
looked  in  to  see  why  she  did  not  find  them,  ex 
claiming,  — 

"Why,  where  are  the  cakes?  I  certainly  set 
them  in  here.  Who  has  taken  them  away?" 

The  children  gazed  at  each  other  in  consterna 
tion. 

"  I'll  bet  it's  some  of  Bub's  doings,"  said  Eliza ; 
and  noticing  for  the  first  time  that  he  was  not  in 
the  room,  they  hastened  out  to  find  him. 

"  Bub,  Bub  !  "  called  the  mother. 

"  Bub,  Bub ! "  echoed  the  children,  as  they 
searched  the  field  over,  and  looked  into  every 
nook  and  corner  that  they  could  think  of.  But 


64  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

there  was  no  answer,  and  not  a  trace  of  him  was 
to  be  found,  until,  at  last,  Charley  called  out,  — 

"  Here's  his  stick  !  » 

"  He  cannot  be  far  off,  then,"  said  his  mother, 
although  she  began  to  grow  uneasy  about  him. 

"  No,"  said  Robert,  "  for  he  rides  that  stick  most 
all  the  time:"  then  he  suddenly  added,  "Ah,, 
you  little  rascal !  I  see  you  !  "  Then  turning  to 
the  rest,  he  whispered,  "Just  look  here,  but  don't 
make  any  noise  !  " 

And  Mrs.  Jones  and  the  children,  gathering 
softly  around  the  pen,  peeping  in,  saw  Bub,  com 
fortably  seated  by  the  fawn,  the  cakes  in  his  lap, 
eating  them  and  feeding  the  gentle  creature.  Bub 
had  teased  the  fawn  the  most,  and  Bub  was  the 
first  to  tame  it. 


BUB  AND  THE  FAWN.     Page  64. 


BROTHER  SMITH  AND  QUARTER  STAKES.   65 


CHAPTER  V. 

BROTHER  SMITH  AND  THE  QUARTER  STAKES. 

"GOOD  morning,  Mr.   Jones.     I   suppose  we 
may  call  this  Indian  summer  —  may  we  not?" 
,  and  the  missionary  —  for  it  was  he  —  shook  hands 
with  the  hunter. 

"  Scarcely  time  for  it  yet,"  replied  the  latter. 
"But  this  is  fine  weather,  though." 

"  Shall  you  be  busy  to-day?  I  wish  to  find  a 
good  quarter  section  of  land-  on  which  to  put  up 
a  house.  I  have  been  thinking  that  as  I  have 
never  pre-empted,  and  have  therefore  a  right  to 
do  so,  I  may  as  well  do  it." 

The  hunter  laughed  scornfully,  and  said, 

"  Good  many  folks  about  here  pre-empt  more 
than  once." 

"  But  that  is  illegal,"  replied  the  minister. 

"  They  don't  stand  about  that." 

"  But  they  are  obliged  to  take  oath  at  the  Land 
Office  that  they  have  never  availed  themselves  of 
the  privilege." 

"And  they  take  it." 

"  But  they  perjure  themselves  in  doing  so." 
5 


66  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"Yes." 

"Well,"  said  the  clergyman,  with  a  sigh,  "I 
can't  understand  how  a  person  can  break  the  laws 
and  take  a  false  oath  for  the  sake  of  a  little  land." 

"Nor  can  I,"  replied  the  hunter,  almost  fierce 
ly  ;  "  and  I  makes  no  pretensions  to  -piety ',  either. 
I  pre-empted  once,  and  afterwards  sold  out;  and 
I  hev  moved  about  considerable  sence ;  but  I  have 
never  cheated  government  out  of  a  cent  yet  — 
nor  anybody,  as  to  that.  I  don't  own  nothing 
here ;  this  is  government  land  that  my  cabin  sets 
on,  and  if  it  was  put  up  for  sale  to-day,  by  the 
proper  authorities,  I  couldn't  say  a  word  if  it  was 
sold,  improvements  and  all.  I  have  to  take  my 
risk,  and  I'm  contented  to,  rather  than  own  the 
biggest  farm  out  doors,  and  get  it  by  lying  under 
oath.  No ;  they  calls  Joseph  Jones  a  worthless 
dog,  and  /  don't  say  he  isn't ;  but  let  me  tell  you, 
neighbor,  that  I  haven't  it  on  my  conscience  that 
I  went  into  the  Land  Office  and  lifted  up  my 
right  hand,  solumly  promising  to  speak  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  and 
then,  when  I  knows  that  I  have  pre-empted  once, 
or  maybe  a  number  of  times,  swear  that  I  never 
hev  —  as  some  of  your  praying,  psalm-singing 
folks  has  ! " 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  say,  Mr.  Jones,  that 
professing  Christians  living  about  here  have  done 
this?" 


BROTHER  SMITH  AND  QUARTER  STAKES.   67 


"  That's  just  what  I  say,"  replied  the  hunter; 
w  and  I  have  as  much  respect  for  sich  whining 
hypercrites  as  I  have  for  a  hissing  adder :  that's 
why  I  never  took  much  to  meetin's,  I  suppose. 
What  I  gits,  I  gits  honest —  don't  I,  pet?"  and  he 
caressed  his  rifle  as  if  it  were  a  living  thing,  and 
understood  what  he  said.     "  I  brings  home  what 
the  good  Lord  sends  inter  the  woods  an'  over  the 
prairies  fur  me.     'The  cattle  upon  a  thousand 
hills  are  his'  —  that's  Scripter,  I  believe  ;  and  it 
means,  I  take  it,  that  the  deer,  and  the  elk,  and 
the  bear,  and  the  geese  and  the  hens,  belong  to 
him:  nobody  ken   say,  </  owns   them  all,'  and 
keep  them  for  his  own  use ;    and  when  Billy, 
here,"  —  patting  his  gun,  —  "brings  down  a  fat 
buck,  we  feel  honest  about  it  —  don't  we,  Bill? 
'Tisn't  like  standing  behind  the  counter  with  a 
smerk  on  yer  face,  as  yer  cheat  in  weight  an' 
measure,  or  sell  sanded  sugar  for  the  genuine. 
Many  an'  many's  the  time  I've  known  this  done, 
by  them  that  lives  in  fine  houses,  and  wears  fine 
clothes,  an'  goes  reg'lar  to  church ;  an'  if  they 
passed  Joseph  Jones,  wouldn't  deign  to  speak  to 
the  old  hunter.     Not  that  I  care  about  that;  I 
don't  deign  to  speak  to  them ;  and  if  heaven  is 
for  them,  I  had  just  as  lieves  stay  a  while  outside, 
for  they  an'  I  could  never  git  along  together  here, 
and  we  couldn't  be  expected  to  there.     But  did 
you  want  anything  perticular  of  me?" 


68  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

':  I  was  told,"  said  the  missionary,  "that  none 
of  the  settlers  understood  so  well  about  the  land, 
and  where  to  find  the  section  and  quarter  section 
stakes  as  you ;  and  I  thought,  if  it  wouldn't  be 
taking  too  much  of  your  time,  that  perhaps  you 
would  show  me  around  a  little." 

"  Nothin'  would  suit  my  feelings  better,"  said 
the  hunter.  "  Was  there  any  perticular  direction 
you  wish  to  go  to  ?  " 

"  Brother  Smith  tells  me  that  here  is  a  fine 
quarter  section  still  unclaimed  ;  "  and  the  clergy 
man  took  from  his  note-book  a  roughly-sketched 
map  of  the  vicinity,  purporting  to  show  what  was 
taken  up  and  what  was  not. 

"  Did  he  give  you  that  1 "  asked  the  hunter,  as 
he  ran  his  eye  over  the  paper. 

"Yes;  as  looking  up  land  is  new  to  me,  I 
was  thankful  to  get  some  sort  of  a  guide,"  replied 
the  missionary. 

"  I  don't  see  much  to  be  thankful  for  on  that 
drawin'." 

"  Why,  isn't  that  quarter  section  free  ?  "  inquired 
the  minister,  perplexed. 

"Yes;  an'  we'll  go  an'  see  it.  But  are  yer 
goin'  afoot?" 

The  missionary  replied  affirmatively. 

"  You'll  never  stand  it  in  the  world,  to  hunt  up 
land  in  that  way  —  too  much  ground  to  go  over. 
Wife,"  he  added,  putting  his  head  in  at  the  door, 


BROTHER    SMITH   AND    QUARTER   STAKES.      69 

"  you  jist  entertain  the  minister,  while  I  see  if  I 
ken  scare  up  a  team  fur  him." 

Mr.  Jones  strode  off  as  if  he  had  a  congenial 
errand  to  do,  and  striking  a  "  bee  line  "  across  the 
prairie,  over  a  river,  through  a  grove,  halted 
before  a  cosy  cottage  that  would  remind  one  of 
New  England.  The  acres  and  acres  of  tilled 
land  stretched  away  from  the  dwelling,  enclosed 
in  the  most  substantial  manner,  and  sleek  cattle, 
that  fed  in  the  rich  pasture,  bespoke  competency 
and  enterprise.  He  stopped  not  to  knock  at  the 
door,  but  entering,  asked  of  a  lady  who  sat  sew 
ing, — 

"Is  yer  husband  about,  Mrs.  Lincoln?" 

K  Yes ;  he's  in  the  other  room.  I'll  speak  to 
him." 

And  in  a  moment  the  robust  form  of  the  owner 
of  the  farm  appeared. 

"How  are  you,  Jones?"  he  said,  in  an  off 
hand  way. 

"  O,  I'm  nicely.  I  called  on  an  errand  fur  yer 
minister,  that  youVe  invited  to  settle  among  us. 
He  wants  a  spot  for  a  cabin,  —  like  the  rest  of 
us,  I  suppose,  —  and  Smith  has  told  him  to  look 
at  the  quarter  section  way  over  there,  a  mile  and 
a  half  beyond  Clark's ;  you  know  the  place.  I 
jist  want  to  git  your  team  and  take  him  over  in  a 
good,  Christian  way,  and  not  let  him  travel  his 


70  THE   CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

legs  off,  so  that  he  can't  preach  to  us  sinners  next 
Sunday." 

Mr.  Lincoln  had  been  foremost  in  urging  the 
missionary  to  cast  in  his  lot  with  them,  and  no 
one  had  made  more  promises  of  material  aid  than 
he.  He  was  sincere  in  this,  and  was  really  a 
generous  man,  but  exceedingly  careless.  He 
had  been  told  that  the  minister  was  going  to  look 
up  a  claim  ;  but  it  had  never  occurred  to  him,  until 
now,  that  the  preacher  had  no  other  conveyance 
than  his  feet,  and  that  to  walk  over  the  prairies 
would  be  a  toilsome  and  time-consuming  task. 
Slapping  his  caller  on  the  shoulder,  he  said,  — 

"  Glad  to  see  you  interested,  Jones ;  and  to  en 
courage  you,  I'll  harness  right  up,  and  you  may 
take  the  span." 

The  nimble-footed  steeds  were  soon  in  the 
buggy  ;  and  the  hunter,  having  taken  the  preacher 
aboard,  was,  in  good  time,  pointing  out  to  him 
the  boundaries  of  the  claim.  It  was  a  lovely 
spot,  —  like  many  such  in  Prairiedom,  —  and  the 
hunter  took  care  that  it  should  be  seen  to  advan 
tage.  On  a  gentle  swell  of  ground  was  a  small 
gem  of  a  grove,  commanding  a  view  of  the  rest 
of  the  section.  The  fall  flowers,  many-hued 
and  bright-eyed,  nodded  gayly  in  the  tall  grass; 
a  natural  spring,  bursting  from  the  hillock,  wound 
its  way  along  till  lost  in  the  distance ;  the  sun 
was  pouring  down  its  rays  from  a  sky  fleecy- 


BROTHER    SMITH   AND    QUARTER    STAKES.      7 1 

clouded  and  soft.  How  could  the  preacher,  with 
his  pure  tastes  and  cultivated  love  of  the  beauti 
ful,  help  being  delighted  with  the  scene? 

"  This  is  delightful !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I'll  build 
my  cottage  right  here  by  the  side  of  this  spring, 
and  my  tilled  land  will  always  be  in  view." 

The  hunter  had  anticipated  his  decision,  and 
dryly  observed,  — 

"  It  wouldn't  be  no  sich  place  as  yer  ought  to 
hev." 

"  Why  not?"  asked  the  minister,  smiling. 

"  Do  you  reckon  on  keeping  a  horse  ? "  asked 
the  other. 

«  No  ;  I  couldn't  afford  that." 

"  How,  then,  are  you  goin'  to  git  to  yer  appint- 
ments,  an'  to  visit  the  sick  an*  the  dyin',  from  this 
pint  ?  And  you'll  never  farm  it  much ;  the  land 
looks  nice  and  slick  as  a  gentleman's  lawn : 
this  is  one  of  the  Lord's  lawns,  neighbor;  but 
'twasn't  made  for  you  to  live  on.  Don't  you  ex 
pect  to  hev  no  evenin'  meetin's?  You  can't  hev 
them  out  here  where  there's  no  live  critter  but  the 
prairie  hins,  and  maybe  in  the  winter  a  stray 
wolf  or  two.  You're  a  -perfessional  man,  and  it's 
necessary  for  you  to  be  right  among  folks,  and 
not  livin'  off  one  side,  like  as  if  you  wanted  to 
keep  out  the  way  of  company." 

This  rugged,   common-sense  way  of  putting 


72  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

things  was  quite  effective,  and  the  missionary 
said,  — 

"  You  are  right.  But  what  can  I  do?  By  this 
chart  I  find  that  there  is  little  vacant  land  about 
here,  and  I  am  unable  to  purchase  an  improved 
farm  at  the  prices  at  which  they  are  held." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  settle  down  on  this  —  do 
ye?" 

"  That  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  Well,  Joseph  Jones  isn't  of  much  account,  but 
if  he  don't  show  you  a  bit  of  land  that's  been  left 
for  jist  sich  as  you,  then  I  lie  like  that  lying 
chart,"  he  said,  angrily.  And  motioning  the 
preacher  to  re'sume  his  seat  in  the' buggy,  the 
hunter  drove  back  for  some  distance  in  the  direc 
tion  from  which  they  had  come,  then,  striking  a 
well-worn  cart-path  to  the  right,  suddenly  emerged 
from  a  piece  of  woods  near  a  river,  on  the  farther 
bank  of  which  was  a  saw-mill,  and  in  the  stream 
were  men  at  work  strengthening  a  dam. 

"There,"  said  the  hunter,  "is  the  centre  of 
things,  so  fur  as  this  vicinity  is  concerned.  That's 
the  store,"  —  as  he  pointed  across  the  river  to  a 
small  building,  —  "  and  a  hotel  is  going  up  just 
opposite;  and  the  land  sharks  and  speculators 
that's  going  to  settle  here  will  want  jist  sich  as 
you  right  among  'em,  to  stir  up  their  consciences, 
and  jog  their  pure  minds  by  way  of  remem 
brance,  —  as  the  Book  says,  —  an'  not  way  off 


BROTHER  SMITH  AND  QUARTER  STAKES.   73 

there  !  "  pointing  contemptuously  over  his  shoul 
der. 

"  But  brother  Smith  informs  me  that  all  the  land 
near  to  the  town  is  taken  up,"  said  the  missionary. 

"  Brother  Smith  —  who's  he  ?  I  know  Charles 
Smith;  and  if  you  kin  fellowship  him,  I  can't. 
An'  when  you  come  to  sift  folks  down,  —  as  I 
foresee  sich  as  you  will,  —  you  won't  brother  him 
much,  unless  he  repints  —  an'  I  don't  say  he 
won't.  Now  let  me  introduce  you  to  your  future 
home,  ef  you  settles  in  these  parts.  There,  this 
is  the  town,  where  we  now  are  ;  "  and  he  placed 
the  tip  of  his  little  finger  on  the  place  as  repre 
sented  on  the  map.  "  Now  coming  down  square 
on  to  the  town-site  is  this  eighty-acre  lot ;  lays 
beautiful  to  the  town,  the  main  street  running 
right  up  to  it.  And  through  that  street,"  continued 
he,  impressively,  "  must  go  all  the  travel  to  the 
important  places  beyond.  And  by  and  by, 
when  the  immigration  gets  strong  enough,  the 
owner  of  that  piece  of  land  will  hev  corner  lots 
and  sich  to  sell.  Let  me  show  jist  how  it  lays  ;  " 
and  crossing  the  bridge,  and  passing  up  the  pro 
jected  street,  he  stopped  the  horses  on  a  gentle 
rise  of  ground,  forming  the  nearest  point  in  the 
eighty  acres.  "There,"  he  continued,  referring 
to  the  map  again,  "you  see  the  eighty-acre  lot 
runs  lengthwise  from  the  town.  Across  it  runs 
a  tributary  of  the  river — just  down  there  where 


74  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

you  see  the  plum  and  bass-wood  trees ;  and  be 
yond  that  are  ten  acres  of  the  richest  and  easiest- 
worked  river  bottom  that  the  sun  ever  shone  on 
' —  all  fenced ;  then  follers  thirty  acres  of  young 
and  valuable  timber  land.  Here's  your  building 
spot  right  here  where  we  stand,  in  sight  of  every 
body,  and  all  the  travel,  handy  to  the  store,  and 
saw-mill,  and  post-office,  and  sich,  and  handy  to 
meetin' ;  and  the  ten  acres  of  alluvial,  rich  as  the 
richest,  and  finely  pulverized  as  powder,  —  you 
ken  plough  it  or  hoe  it  jist  as  easy  as  you  ken  turn 
your  hand  over,  —  will  give  you  all  the  sarce  you 
want,  and  something  to  sell.  And  there's  wood 
enough  down  over  the  place  to  keep  yer  fires 
a  going ;  and  when  you  want  to  pre-empt,  jist  sell 
some  of  yer  standing  .timber  there,  to  help  pay 
for  the  whole,  at  government  price." 

"  But,"  replied  the  missionary,  as  the  squatter 
finished  his  graphic  description,  "  I  see  by  this 
chart  that  this  is  taken  up  ;  "  for  he  had  meanwhile 
been  examining  it. 

"Well,"  said  the  hunter,  " whose  name's  writ 
down  as  the  owner  of  this  land  ?  " 

"  Henry  Simonds,"  said  the  minister,  reading 
from  the  paper. 

"  And  do  you  know  who  '  Henry  Simonds  '  may 
be  ?  "  asked  the  hunter.  "  It's  a  young  chap  jist 
turned  nineteen,  and  of  course  not  old  'nought  to 
pre-empt,  according  to  law,  and  who  hasn't  lived 


BROTHER   SMITH    AND    QUARTER    STAKES.     75 

on  this  claim  a  day  in  his  life.  There  isn't  a 
sign  of  a  shanty  on  the  place,  and  the  law  re 
quires  that  every  man  must  show  something  of  a 
house  to  prove  that  he  is  an  actual  settler.  That 
name's  a  blind.  This  land  jines  Smith's,  and  he's 
been  carrying  on  the  ten-acre  lot  over  the  river, 
rent  free ;  and  it  comes  very  handy  for  him  to 
come  in  on  this  piece  and  get  his  saw-logs.  It's 
government  property ;  and  all  you  have  to  do  is, 
to  put  you  up  a  cabin,  and  go  ahead,  and  if 
Smith  kicks  up  a  fuss,  jist  send  him  to  me." 

This  revelation  of  duplicity  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Smith  took  the  minister  by  surprise.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  the  location  would  be  as  advantageous 
for  him  as  his  plain-spoken  guide  had  repre 
sented.  It  was  defrauding  the  government  for 
Smith  to  hold  it  as  he  did ;  and  should  he,  in  a 
legal  wa}r,  take  possession,  no  one  could  accuse 
him  of  wrong.  But  he  had  not  come  out  on  the 
frontier  to  promote  his  worldly  interests ;  and  he 
said  to  the  hunter,  — 

"  What  you  say  is  all  right,  I  have  no  doubt, 
Mr.  Jones  ;  but  it  is  not  land  that  I  want  so  much 
as  to  do  good  among  this  people ;  and  I  should 
not  wish  to  do  anything  that  would  cause  ill 
feeling." 

"Just  as  I  expected,"  said  the  squatter,  with  a 
disappointed  air ;  "  and  I  rather  think  you  be 
long  to  the  kingdom  that  is  not  of  this  world. 


76  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

But  you  are  stopping  at  Edmunds's  —  aren't  you? 
Well,  it's  only  a  short  piece  to  his  cabin,  and  I 
must  take  the  team  back  ;  but "  —  after  thinking  a 
moment  —  "if  you'll  take  the  dam  on  your  way, 
you'll  find  Palmer  there.  He's  a  Christian,  if 
there  is  one  in  these  parts ;  and  you  can  depend 
on  him ;  and  if  you  choose  to  talk  with  him  a 
bit  about  this  eighty-acre  lot,  there  won't  be  any 
harm  done." 

The  minister  thanked  the  squatter  for  his  ser 
vices,  the  latter  saying,  as  he  drove  off, — 

"Call  on  me  agin,  if  you  want  anything  in 
my  line." 

As  the  missionary  passed  towards  the  dam, 
he  saw  the  surveyors  at  work,  dividing  the  town 
site  into  lots ;.  and  he  paused  to  notice  again  the 
location.  The  underbrush  had  be  in  carefully 
removed,  and  the  cleared  space—  bounded  on 
one  hand  by  the  river,  and  on  the  other  by  the 
forest,  while  farther  away  from  eacl  side  stretched 
the  ^smooth  prairie  —  looked  as  if  nature  had  in 
tended  it  as  a  business  centre. 

"  How  do  you  like  our  town  plot?  "  said  a  voice 
at  his  side. 

"  It  is  charming !  "  exclaimed  the  preacher ; 
and,  turning,  he  saw  Mr.  Palmer. 

He  was  a  medium-sized  man,  in  shirt  sleeves 
and  blue  overalls,  with  an  old  black  silk  hat 
on,  which,  from  its  bent  appearance,  gave  one 


BROTHER  SMITH  AND  QUARTER  STAKES.   77 

the  idea  that  it  had  on  occasions  been  used  for  a 
seat  as  well  as  a  covering.  The  keen  blue  eyes 
under  it,  and  the  general  contour  of  the  face, 
ending  in  a  smoothly-shaven  chin,  revealed  a 
hard-working,  frugal,  money-saving  character, 
yet  honest,  sincere,  and  unselfish.  He  was,  in 
deed,  —  what  he  struck  the  observer  as  being,  — 
a  prudent  counsellor,  a  true  friend,  a  wisely-gen 
erous  helper  in  every  good  word  and  work.  No 
man  in  the  settlement  was  more  respected  than 
he  —  a  respect  not  based  on  his  personal  appear 
ance,  it  was  clear ;  for  he  had  a  perfect  contempt 
for  the  ostentations  of  dress  and  equipage,  but 
due  to  his  straightforward  and  consistent  "deport 
ment.  He  was  about  forty,  and  unmarried,  and, 
on  account  of  his  amiable,  thrifty,  and  Christianly 
qualities,  was  said  to  be  the  victim  of  incessant 
"  cap-setting "  by  managing  mammas  and  mar 
riageable  daughters,  and  of  no  little  raillery  on 
the  part  of  the  men,  which  he  bore  with  great 
good  nature,  safely  escaping  from  each  matrimo 
nial  snare,  and  returning  joke  for  joke. 

"  Been  looking  up  land?  "  asked  the  bachelor. 

The  missionary  related  the  day's  doings,  and 
what  the  squatter  had  said  about  Mr.  Smith  and 
the  eighty  acres. 

"Jones  has  stated  the  facts  in  the  case,"  said 
Mr.  Palmer,  "  and  advised  well ;  but  it  won't  do 
for  you  to  have  any  falling  out  with  Smith.  If 


78  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

you  will  leave  the  matter  with  me,  I  guess  I  can 
manage  it  so  that  you  shall  have  the  eighty  acres, 
and  there  be  no  bad  feelings.  We  had  better 
pay  Smith  something  than  to  have  a  quarrel." 

"But  is  Smith  a  member  of  a  church?"  asked 
the  missionary. 

"  We  don't  know  who  is  who,  yet,"  answered 
the  other ;  "  but  should  we  ever  form  a  church 
here,  of  course  he'll  have  to  show  a  certificate  of 
membership  in  order  to  join  ;  and  I  rather  think 
he'll  never  be  able  to  do  that.  Do  him  all  the 
good  you  can,  but  don't  trust  him  overmuch." 


MRS.  JONES'S  STORY.  79 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MRS.  JONES'S  STORY.  — THE  GRAY  WOLF. 

"WAS  it  so  very  different  east,  mother," 
asked  Tom,  one  day,  "where  you  came  from, 
from  what  it  is  here?" 

"Different  in  what  respects?  "  she  inquired. 

"O,"  he  answered,  hesitatingly,  "I  mean,  were 
folks  as  poor  and  ignorant  as  —  as  —  " 

"As  we  are,  you  were  going  to  say,"  said  she, 
placidly,  finishing  his  sentence  for  him. 

"  I  don't  think  that  you  and  father  are  igno 
rant"  he  replied,  looking  confused  ;  "but- 

"I  understand  what  you  mean,  Tom.  No; 
where  your  father  and  I  were  born,  and  where 
we  were  married,  the  country  was  thickly  settled. 
All  the  children  went  to  school,  and  there  were 
no  such  cabins  as  the  one  we  live  in,  but  nice, 
framed  houses  of  wood,  stone,  or  brick." 

"Were  there  no  poor  people  there?" 

"Yes,  as  many  as  there  are  here,  —  a  great 
many  in  the  large  cities,  —  and  they  found  it  very 
hard  getting  along." 

"Were  yours  and  father's  folks  very  poor?" 


8o  THE    CABIN   ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 

"  No ;     they   were     in     comfortable    circum 
stances." 

"  Then  why,  mother,  did  you  come  west,  and 
why  do  we  live  as  we  do  now  ?  " 

As  she  did  not  at  once  reply,  the  lad,   busy 
once  more  with  his  own  thoughts,  forgot  that  he 
had  asked  the  question.     He  had  often  revolved 
the  matter  in  his  own  mind,  but  had  never  before 
ventured  to  speak  of  it.     His  mother's  conversa 
tion  with  him,  after  his  injury  by  the  gun,   had 
shown  him  the  folly  of  his  plan  of  leaving  home 
clandestinely;    but    dissatisfaction    with    his    lot 
grew  with  his  growth  and  strengthened  with  his 
strength.     It  was  a  great  mystery  to  him  how 
his  mother  could  consent  to  live  so,  for  so  many 
years.     He  would   look  at  the  black  and    cra 
zy  loggery,  with  its  clay  "chinking,"  that  was 
ever  more  cracking,  and  crumbling,  and  falling 
to    the   floor,    leaving   holes   between   the    logs, 
through  which  the  wind  and  rain  entered ;   and 
the  one  rickety  chair,  and  the  rude  benches  and 
boxes  for  sitting   accommodations,  and  the  bed 
steads,  composed  of  rough  oaken  slabs,  spiked  at 
the    head    and   side  to  the  walls,   and    a  rough 
post  at  the  unsupported  corner,  and  the  cracked 
and  rusted  stove  and  leaky  funnel ;  and  then  he 
would  look  at  his  mother,  who,  despite  her  coarse 
and  dingy  dress,  seemed  so  superior  to  her  condi 
tion  ;  and  the  more  he  realized  the  contrast,  the 


MRS.  JONES'S  STORY.  81 

more  he  marvelled.  When  he  was  younger,  he 
had  noticed  this  incongruity  between  his  gentle 
mother  and  her  wretched  surroundings ;  and  now 
he  sometimes  wished  he  could  be  insensible  to 
it,  it  made  him  so  unhapp}^.  How  restless  he 
became  —  how  like  a  caged  eaglet,  as  he  pon 
dered  the  subject  by  night  and  by  day  —  none 
knew  save  the  watchful  friend  who  moved  so 
gently  about  the  dark-lighted  cabin,  and  kept  so 
uncomplainingly  at  her  tasks. 

And  his  father  seemed  to  him,  in  his  way,  as 
much  of  a  mystery  as  his  mother.  Was  he  con 
tented  with  the  roving  Ijfe  he  led?  and  did  he 
never  realize  the  deprivations  of  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  ?  Did  father  and  mother  ever  know  brighter 
days?  and  were  they  never  to  see  them  again? 
And  was  it  duty  for  him  to  keep  on  in  the  same 
way,  sacrificing  every  rising  aspiration  and  pure 
taste,  and  getting  nothing  in  return  but  poor  food 
and  clothing,  a  comfortless  home,  and  a  mind 
undeveloped  and  unfurnished? 

Seated  on  the  end  of  a  box,  shelling  corn  by 
drawing  the  ears  against  the  back  of  a  broken 
scythe,  he  had  been  working  and  thinking 
through  the  evening,  while  the  children  slept, 
with  no  one  to  notice  his  absent-minded  labor  but 
his  ever-wakeful  mother. 

"  I  will  not  endure  it,"  he  mentally  exclaimed  ; 
and,  by  way  of  emphasis,  he  drew  the  ear  of 
6 


82  THE    CABIN   ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

corn  he  held  against  the  edge  of  the  scythe  with 
unusual  force,  at  the  same  instant  springing  to 
his  feet  with  a  cry  of  pain,  and  a  finger  in  his 
mouth,  upsetting  his  seat,  and  sending  the  con 
tents  of  the  box  rolling  across  the  floor,  and  into 
the  gaping  cracks. 

"O,  I've  scraped  my  finger  awfully  !  "  he  said, 
with  grimaces  that  added  nothing  to  his  personal 
attractions. 

"Why,  how  did  you  do  it,  my  son?  "  asked  the 
mother,  although  she  knew  very  well. 

"  Why,  you  see,  I  was  thinking  about  some 
thing,  and  pulled  my  finger,  instead  of  the  cob, 
against  the  edge." 

Mrs.  Jones  laid  back  the  strip  of  bleeding 
flesh  into  the  place  from  which  it  had  thus  un 
ceremoniously  been  torn,  and  from  which  it  hung 
by  a  bit  of  skin,  and  carefully  bound  up  the 
wound. 

Then,  sweeping  the  scattered  kernels  into  a 
heap,  and  restoring  them  to  the  box,  she  seated 
herself  in  a  little  dislocated  chair,  and  said, — 

"There,  don't  shell  any  more  now,  Tom; 
I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  You  asked 
why  we  came  west.  The  time  has  come  when 
you  had  better  know  something  of  our  his 
tory  ;  it  may  help  you  decide  your  course  of 
action. 

"  Your  father  and  I  were  born  in  Connecticut, 


MRS.  JONES'S  STORY.  83 

in  the  same  town.  We  attended  school  together 
in  our  early  childhood,  and  often  played  together. 
Both  of  our  families  were  respectable  —  your 
father's  quite  so,  although  not  so  well  off  as  to 
property  as  mine.  He  was  a  bright,  promising 
boy,  quick  to  learn,  warm-hearted,  and  conscien 
tious.  I  never  knew  him  guilty  of  any  of  the 
petty  meannesses  too  common  among  school 
children.  He  was  sensitive  to  a  fault,  but  had 
high  notions  of  honor,  and  despised  falsehood 
and  deception  in  any  form.  When  I  was  seven 
teen  I  became  secretly  engaged  to  him.  My 
parents  did  not  suspect  this,  nor  did  any  of  the 
household,  except  a  younger  sister,  to  whom  I 
confided  my  secret.  I  now  think  it  would  have 
been  better  for  all  concerned  had  I  from  the  first 
been  open  in  the  matter,  and  frankly  stated  to  my 
mother  what  my  preference  was.  But  I  knew 
that  he  was  not  their  choice  for  me.  They  were 
ambitious  to  have  me  marry  brilliantly,  as  the 
phrase  went,  —  that  is,  wealthily  and  in  style, — 
and  he  was  young,  and  had  his  fortune  to  carve 
out  pretty  much  for  himself.  He  knew  what  their 
hopes  were  concerning  me,  matrimonially,  and, 
that  I  might  be  perfectly  free  to  break  the  en 
gagement,  should  I  repent  of  it,  rarely  saw  me, 
nor  did  any  correspondence  pass  between  us. 
My  regard  for  him  did  not  lessen  on  this  account, 
for  I  understood  his  motives.  When  he  was  of 


84  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

age,  his  father  died,  leaving  him  a  thousand  dol 
lars  as  his  portion.  With  this  he  went  into  busi 
ness,  with  good  prospects,  in  a  neighboring  city. 
I  shall  never  forget  how  earnestly  he  spoke, 
one  evening,  as  we  parted  after  a  brief  inter 
view. 

' '  Mary,'  said  he,  '  I  will  be  rich.  I've  set  my 
mind  on  that ;  and  then  your  father  won't  be 
ashamed  to  own  me  as  a  son-in-law,  and  I  shall 
come  and  claim  you.' 

"  It  seemed  noble  and  heroic  for  him  to  speak 
thus ;  but  my  heart  smote  me  with  foreboding, 
and  I  answered,  — 

' '  But  what  if  you  do  not  succeed  ? ' 

' '  I  will  succeed ; '  he  replied,  impetuously. 
'What  a  man  wills  he  can  do.' 

"Ah,  how  foolish  and  sinful  it  is  to  worship 
money  and  show,  as  my  parents  did ;  how  much 
suffering  it  has  caused  me  !  and  how  equally  un 
wise  and  presumptuous  it  was  for  a  young  man, 
stung  by  the  pride  of  others,  to  make  that  the 
rule  of  his  life,  and  go  forth  in  his  own  strength 
to  build  up  a  fortune,  so  that  he  might  demand 
me  of  my  parents  as  an  equal,  and  thus  gratify 
his  own  pride!  I  see  it  now,  but  not  clearly 
then. 

"Joseph,  for  a  time,  was  prosperous.  Every 
thing  he  turned  his  hand  to  was  remunerative ; 


MRS.  JONES'S  STORY.  85 

and  when  we  met,  his  manner  was  confident  and 
hopeful. 

' '  Let  the  old  gentleman  look  down  upon  me 
now  if  he  chooses,'  he  would  say;  'he  won't 
always  do  it.' 

"  He  had  been  a  year  in  business  when  a 
partnership  was  proposed  to  him  by  a  man  of 
education  and  gentlemanly  appearance.  Joseph 
spoke  to  me  about  it,  and  I  said,  — 

: f You  are  doing  well  enough  now.  Why  not 
be  contented  to  go  alone?  I  have  often  heard 
that  partnerships  are  poor  ships  to  sail  in/ 

'Well,'  said  he,  'there's  something  in  his  ap 
pearance  that  I  do  not  quite  like,  and  I  think  I 
shall  not  take  him  in.' 

"  But  as  the  man  came  with  the  highest  testi 
monials  as  to  his  character,  ability,  and  influence, 
with  the  hope  of  greatly  enlarging  his  business, 
a  copartnership  was  entered  into.  Mr.  Jacques, 
the  partner,  was  Joseph's  senior  in  age  —  a  stout, 
robust  man,  with  a  high  forehead,  light  hair,  al 
ways  carried  a  cane,  was  jovial,  and  good- 
natured  in  the  extreme,  fond  of  telling  a  good 
story,  but  sharp  in  trade.  I  met  him  on  one  occa 
sion,  and  there  was  something  in  the  turn  of  his 
eye  —  a  restless,  jerking,  selfish  expression  —  that 
made  me  shrink  from  him.  Joseph  was  proud 
of  his  acquisition,  and,  remembering  my  cau- 


86  THE    CABIN   ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

tion,  asked  me  what  I  thought  of  him.  I  well 
remember  the  reply  that  leaped  to  my  lips. 

f '  Didn't  you  say  that  he  was  religious  ? ' 

"He  professes  to  be,'  said  he. 

1 '  I  fear  that  it  is  only  a  cloak  to  his  real  char 
acter.  If  he  is  a  Christian,  I  do  not  know  what 
grace  has  done  for  him ;  but  if  I  do  not  misread 
his  face,  he  is  constitutionally  dishonest.' 

"  But  every  thing  went  on  smoothly,  and  Joseph 
would  say  to  me  when  we  met,  — 

' '  My  partner  loves  scandal  a  little  too  well  — 
is  apt  to  talk  against  others ;  but  one  thing  I'm 
sure  of — he's  honest.' 

"  One  morning,  some  months  after  this  con 
versation,  I  chanced  to  meet  Joseph  as  he  was 
going  to  the  office ;  he  looked  pale  and  care 
worn. 

"O,'  said  he,  'I  have  had  the  most  singular 
exercise  of  mind.  Some  folks  are  troubled  with 
sleeplessness ;  but  I  never  was  until  last  night. 
I  went  to  bed  feeling  as  well  as  usual,  but  could 
not  sleep.  I  was  not  unusually  tired,  had  taken 
a  light  supper,  and  saw  no  reason  why  I  should 
be  so  wakeful.  I  turned  and  tossed  in  bed,  and 
shut  my  eyes ;  but  all  in  vain.  I  even  laid  my 
finger  on  my  wrist,  that  the  counting  of  my  pulse 
might,  by  the  monotony,  induce  slumber;  when, 
suddenly,  before  my  mind's  eye  stood  my  part 
ner  ;  it  seemed  as  real  as  life ;  and  with  the  ap- 


MRS.  JONES'S  STORY.  87 

-pearance  came  little  remarks  of  his,  little  acts  and 
words,  which,  as  they  ranged  themselves  along 
like  the  links  in  a  chain,  revealed  him  to  me, 
against  my  will,  as  a  deceiver  and  a  dishonest 
man.' 

"  He  was  much  excited,  and  hurried  to  town. 
Mr.  Jacques,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  was  there 
before  him,  and  met  him  with  his  bland  smile 
and  well-turned  compliments  ;  and,  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  scarcely  an  hour  had  passed  before  he 
had  charmed  away  every  shadow  of  suspicion. 
Matters  now  went  on  as  before  for  a  few  weeks, 
when  Joseph  had  another  sleepless  night,  and  a 
more  convincing  unfolding  of  his  partner's  real 
character ;  and  the  next  night,  after  the  office  had 
been  closed,  he  spent  in  examining  the  books 
of  the  concern,  and  detected  a  number  of  artfully- 
contrived  fraudulent  entries  in  the  handwriting 
of  his  partner,  for,  according  to  agreement,  the 
latter  kept  the  accounts.  Further  revelations 
showed  that  he  had  been  gradually  abstracting 
the  stock.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Jacques  saw  that  he 
was  being  found  out,  his  gentleness  and  polite 
ness  were  all  gone,  and  he  raged  like  a  beast  of 
prey.  Joseph  attached  his  furniture  at  his  dwell 
ing,  but  found  it  had  all  been  made  over  to  his 
son  —  a  young  lawyer  in  the  city ;  meanwhile 
the  dishonest  man  had  fled  with  his  ill-gotten 
gains,  leaving  the  business  in  a  frightfully  com- 


88  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

plicated  state.  The  result  was,  as  is  often  the 
case  when  a  man*  begins  to  go  down  in  his 
affairs,  although  he  may  be  ever  so  deserving 
and  innocent,  there  are  enough  to  give  him  a 
push.  It  was  so  with  him.  In  vain  did  Joseph, 
by  his  books,  show  that  he  was  doing  well  up  to 
the  cruel  embezzlements,  and  that  if  he  was  dealt 
leniently  with,  he  could  recover  his  standing, 
and  go  on  as  prosperously  as  before ;  his  cred 
itors,  one  after  another,  ferociously  pounced  upon 
him;  he  got  through  one  trouble  only  to  meet 
another,  until  utter  failure  came.  The  effect  on 
Joseph  was  lamentable  in  the  extreme.  He  sat 
by  his  fire  at  home,  day  after  day,  for  weeks, 
with  his  head  buried  in  his  hands,  in  utter  de 
spair.  Had  some  kind  friend  stepped  forward 
and  started  him  anew,  what  a  deed  of  mercy  it 
would  have  been  !  But  the  men  whom  he  accom 
modated  with  money,  when  prosperous,  turned 
their  backs  upon  him  now. 

"Recovering  somewhat  from  the  shock,  he 
sought  again  and  again  for  employment;  but 
his  short-sighted  and  relentless  creditors  would 
factorize  his  earnings,  and  thus  oblige  him  to 
leave." 

"Factorize!"  asked  Tom,  interrupting  her; 
"what  is  that?" 

"  Why,"  said  the  mother,  "  if  a  man  owes  an 
other,  the  creditor  attaches  his  wages,  and  when 


MRS.  JONES'S  STORY.  89 

the  man  presents  his  bill  to  his  employer,  he  finds 
that  he  cannot  pay  him  anything.  In  vain  he 
went  to  distant  places  to  earn  a  subsistence. 
Shrewd  lawyers  were  put  upon  his  track;  he 
was  ferretted  out,  until,  discouraged,  he  came  to 
me  one  day,  and  said, — 

' '  Mary,  the  hounds  are  after  me  from  morning 
till  night.  They  dog  my  steps  wherever  I  go, 
and  give  me  no  chance  to  retrieve  my  fortunes. 
I  am  going  to  the  west ;  and  it  isn't  right  to  hold 
you  to  your  engagement  any  longer,  for  I  can 
never,  on  my  part,  fulfil  it.  The  odds  are 
against  me  here,  and,  what  is  worse,  I've  lost 
my  courage  and  hope ;  I  have  come  to  bid  you 
good  by.' 

f '  If  you  do  not  care  for  me  any  longer,'  I  said, 
'  say  so.  You've  struggled  hard,  and  have  mer 
ited  a  better  result ;  it  isn't  your  fault  that  you 
have  failed.  God  forbid  that  I  should  break  my 
promise.  If  }7ou  must  go  west,  you  are  not  go 
ing  alone.  I  shall  go  with  you,  and  shall  this 
very  night  tell  my  parents  all  about  my  engage 
ment,  and  get  their  consent  to  our  marriage.' 

"  He  shook  his  head.  But  feeling  that  it  had 
been  cowardly  in  me  not  to  have  mentioned  the 
subject  before,  whatever  the  result  might  have 
been,  in  a  few  words  I  frankly,  and  with  a  com 
posure  that  surprised  myself,  told  them  the  whole 
story.  My  father  was  a  quick-tempered,  imperi- 


90  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

ous  man,  and  my  mother  lived  only  for  this  world  : 
the  result  you  can  easily  imagine.  But  I  felt  that 
my  duty  was  plain ;  and  we  were  quietly  mar 
ried.  Having  a  little  money  of  my  own,  joining 
it  with  what  your  father  had  by  him,  we  started 
towards  the  setting  sun.  But  what  was  that?" 
said  Mrs.  Jones,  stopping  in  her  recital,  as  a 
strange  sound  fell  upon  her  ear. 

It  was  a  long,  fiendish  yell,  swelling  upon  the 
still  night  air  over  the  unbroken  solitudes  of  the 
prairie ;  it  was  most  appalling.  Tom  and  his 
mother  hastened  to  the  window ;  they  saw  a  no 
ble  buck,  his  antlers  held  aloft,  flying  with  his 
utmost  speed,  pursued  by  two  dark-looking  ob 
jects,  that  gained  rapidly  on  him. 

"It's  the  gray  wolf,"  said  Tom,  "chasing  a 
deer.  How  I  wish  I  had  a  rifle  !  I  could  bring 
one  of  them  down  easy  as  not,"  —  as  they  dashed 
by,  with  short,  quick  yells,  following  their  prey 
into  the  woods  that  skirted  the  river. 

"I  hope  the  poor  creature  will  escape,"  said 
Mrs.  Jones,  with,  a  sigh;  and  she  resumed  her 
narrative.  "I  was  not  long  in  seeing,  on  our 
journey  out,  that  a  dreadful  change  had  been 
wrought  in  your  father  by  his  business  troubles. 
It  had  given  him  an  unconquerable  disgust  of 
society,  which  he  has  not  yet  outgrown,  making 
him  uneasy  and  restless  wherever  he  has  been ; 
and  this,  Tom,  is  the  secret  of  his  wandering 


MRS.  JONES'S  MISTAKE.  91 

life ;  and  this  is  why  I  never  feel  that  I  can  com 
plain  at  any  of  the  changes  in  our  hard,  unset 
tled  career  as  a  family." 

Tom,  who  had  listened  absorbed  to  this  be 
fore  unread  chapter  in  the  family  history,  was 
deeply  moved,  and,  while  the  tears  filled  his  eyes, 
asked,  in  tremulous  tones,  — 

"Do  you  think  father '11  ever  get  over  it, 
mother?" 

"Tom,"  replied  she,  "your  father  has  a  true 
heart  and  a  good  mind,  and  I  believe  that,  in 
some  way,  good  will  yet  come  out  of  this  long- 
continued  trial.  He's  taken  a  great  liking  to  the 
missionary ;  and  Mr.  Payson  seems  to  under 
stand  him  better  than  most,  and  I  am  praying 
that  the  acquaintance  may  lead  to  something 
brighter  for  him  ;  and,  Tom,"  she  added,  "  I  have 
told  you  this  that  you  may  see  a  new  reason  for 
not  being  in  haste  to  leave  your  father  and 
mother.  There  is  one  passage  in  the  Bible  I 
often  think  of,  which  directs  us  to  both  hope  and 
quietly  wait  for  the  salvation  of  God.  Your 
father's  mistake,  when  he  went  into  business, 
was,  that  he  was  in  too  great  haste  to  accomplish 
his  own,  will.  This  is  apt  to  be  the  error  of  the 
young.  They  are  sanguine  of  success,  and  they 
rush  into  the  battle  of  life  without  waiting  to  put 
on  the  armor  of  faith.  What  the  young  want  in 
setting  out,  Tom,  is  a  Guide  and  a  Helper,  who 


92  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

cannot  err,  and  will  not  forsake  them.  An  old 
man  in  our  town  used  to  say,  '  Never  try  to  kick 
open  the  door  of  Providence.'  I  want  you, 
Tom,  to  wait  patiently  till  Providence  opens 
the  door  for  you.  Then  you  need  not  be  afraid 
to  go  forward." 


A    SABBATH    ON    THE    PRAIRIE.  93 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A   SABBATH    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

Extracts  from  the  Missionary's  Diary. 

YESTERDAY  I  preached  my  first  sermon  in  a 
log  cabin.  When  I  awoke  in  the  early  morning, 
and  looked  out  of  the  little  window  at  the  head 
of  my  bed  in  the  rough,  low-roofed  attic,  a  new 
world  seemed  to  break  on  my  sight.  Instead  of 
the  narrow,  noisy  streets  and  tenanted  blocks  of 
the  populous  eastern  city,  my  eyes  rested  on 
one  vast  green  field  stretching  to  the  arching 
horizon,  over  which  brooded  a  profound  silence, 
intensified  by  the  sacred  hush  of  the  Sabbath. 

My  host  offered  his  own  cabin  for  the  forenoon 
service.  His  son  —  a  sturdy  young  man  of 
eighteen,  inured  to  pioneer  life  —  had  ridden  far 
and  wide  to  give  notice  of  the  meeting,  and  he 
was  confident  of  a  good  attendance.  I  anti 
cipated  the  labors  of  the  day  with  some  misgiv 
ings,  for  I  had  become  slavishly  accustomed  to 
the  use  of  written  sermons ;  but  here,  before  a 
log-cabin  audience,  to  speak  from  manuscript 


94  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

was  not  to  be  thought  of.  For  once,  at  least,  I 
must  trust  to  the  grace  of  Christ,  and  speak  as 
the  Spirit  gave  utterance.  My  study  was  a  cor 
ner  of  the  loft,  my  library  a  pocket  Bible. 

"  Where  do  all  these,  people  come  from  ? "  I 
ejaculated  in  pleased  surprise,  as,  for  a  full  hour 
before  the  time  appointed,  men,  women,  and 
children,  afoot,  in  wagons  and  ox-teams,  con 
tinued  to  arrive.  And  through  the  cracks  in  the 
loosely-laid,  unnailed  floor,  I  could  see  members 
of  the  family  engaged  in  contriving  sitting  ac 
commodations  for  the  growing  congregation. 
Unplaned  oaken  boards,  placed  across  trunks, 
boxes,  and  huge  blocks,  soon  filled  the  room, 
every  seat  being  occupied,  while  groups  of  men 
stood  about  the  door  outside,  or  sat  upon  the 
embankment.  I  would  have  a  "  full  house  "  cer 
tainly.  And  what  effort  had  been  made  by  these 
frontier  folk  to  attend  I  could  easily  imagine. 
Some  had  walked  many  miles  for  the  purpose ; 
most  had  come  quite  a  distance.  And  the  ear 
nest,  thoughtful  faces  that  met  my  gaze,  as  I 
descended  the  ladder,  and  read  the  opening 
hymn,  —  how  reverently  their  heads  were  bowed 
for  prayer,  and  with  what  hushed  interest  they 
listened  to  the  discourse,  —  I  can  not  soon  forget. 
One  woman,  who  sat  surrounded  by  her  family, 
wept  from  the  announcement  of  the  text  till  the 
close  of  the  sermon  —  wept  for  joy  that,  once 


A   SABBATH    ON   THE    PRAIRIE.  95 

more,  after  long  deprivation  of  sanctuary  privi 
leges,  she  could  hear  the  word  of  God.  It  was 
a  scene  for  a  painter  —  that  log  cabin  crowded 
with  representatives  of  every  state  in  the  Union, 
in  every  variety  of  garb,  and  of  all  ages,  from 
the  gray-haired  backwoodsman  to  the  babe  in 
its  mother's  arms.  No  costly  organ  was  here, 
with  its  gentle,  quiet  breathings,  or  grand  and 
massive  harmonies  ;  no  trained  choir ;  no  conse 
crated  temple,  with  its  Sabbath  bell,  and  spire 
pointing  heavenward ;  no  carpeted  aisles  and 
"dim  religious  light,"  and  sculptured,  cushioned 
pulpit.  But  I  could  not  doubt  the  presence  of 
the  Spirit.  And  when,  at  the  close,  "Praise 
God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow,"  was  sung  to 
Old  Hundred,  —  sung  as  if  with  one  voice  and 
soul,  the  clear,  sweet  tones  of  childhood  blend 
ing  with  the  deeper  sounds  of  manhood  and 
womanhood, — the  rough,  rude  building  seemed 
as  the  gate  of  heaven. 

My  appointment  for  the  afternoon  was  at  a 
small  settlement  eleven  miles  away. 

A  charming  drive  through  the  "  oak  openings  " 
and  over  the  rolling  prairie  brought  us  to  the 
cabin  which  was  to  serve  as  meeting-house.  It 
was  a  long,  low,  one-roomed  building,  the  logs 
of  which  it  was  constructed  still  rejoicing  in  their 
primitive  covering  of  bark,  the  openings  between 
them  being  closed  with  clay  thrown  in  by  hand. 


96  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

Mr.  G.,  the  owner,  —  a  short,  gray-haired,  brisk 
little  man  with  a  wooden  leg,  gave  me  a  cordial 
welcome,  and,  to  show  how  willing  he  was  to 
have  the  meeting  in  his  cabin,  pointed  to  his  shoe 
maker's  bench,  and  various  articles  of  furniture, 
including  a  bedstead,  trundle-bed,  and  bedding, 
which  had  been  removed  from  the  room,  and 
piled  in  admirable  disorder  outside. 

"  You  have  been  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  I 
remarked. 

"  None  too  much,"  he  cheerily  replied.  "  I  am 
an  old  soldier,  you  see,  and  that's  why  I  have  to 
hobble  about  on  this,"  pointing  to  the  ancient  arti 
ficial  limb.  "  I  was  in  the  war  of  1812,  belonged 
to  the  cavalry,  and  at  the  battle  of —  " 

"Husband,"  gently  interposed  his  wife,  —  an 
intellectual-looking  woman,  with  a  face  expres 
sive  of  goodness,  — "the  minister  will  not  care  to 
hear  of  war  to-day  •, "  adding,  with  a  blush, 
"  You  must  excuse  us,  sir ;  but  it  is  so  long  since 
we  have  seen  one  of  your  profession,  or  attended 
religious  services,  that  the  days  seem  too  much 
alike ;  there  is  little  here  to  remind  us  that  the 
Sabbath  should  be  kept  holy.  O,  it  is  so  dread 
ful —  so  like  heathenism — to  live  without  the 
ordinances  of  the  gospel !  No  Sunday  school  for 
our  children  and  youth,  no  servant  of  God  to 
counsel  the  dying,  comfort  the  bereaved,  and 
point  the  heavy-laden  to  Christ !  " 


A   SABBATH    ON   THE    PRAIRIE.  97 

w  Such  a  state  of  things  must,  indeed,  be  a 
great  trial  to  those  who  love  the  Saviour,"  I  ob 
served. 

"Yes;  and  what  adds  to  the  trial,"  she  con 
tinued,  "is,  that  members  of  churches,  after  they 
have  been  here  awhile,  fall  into  great  laxity  in 
respect  to  the  Lord's  day.  Those  who  were  ex 
emplary  east,  are  here  seen  starting  upon  or  re 
turning  from  a  business  journey  on  Sunday.  O, 
we  need  some  one  to  gather  these  straying  sheep, 
and  unite  them  by  the  public  means  of  grace  : 
many  of  them,  I  doubt  not,  are  secretly  longing 
for  this.  For  more  than  a  year  I  have  been 
praying  that  God  would  send  a  servant  of  his 
this  way." 

"And  sometimes,  I  dare  say,  you  have  felt 
almost  discouraged,"  I  suggested. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  weeping;  "but  last  week 
something  came  to  strengthen  my  faith,  and  later, 
intelligence  that  you  were  to  visit  us.  Months 
ago  I  wrote  east  for  a  donation  of  good  reading 
to  scatter  among  the  settlers,  but  received  no  re 
sponse  till,  last  Tuesday,  a  package  of  books, 
tracts,  and  religious  papers  arrived.  In  one  of 
the  papers  was  an  article  entitled  'The  Pulpit 
and  the  Beech  Tree.'" 

"Here  it  is,"  said  the  husband,  passing  her  the 
sheet ;  "  better  read  it  to  the  parson ;  there'll  be 
plenty  of  time  afore  the  meeting ; "  and  he 
7 


98  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

glanced  at  a  venerable  clock  screwed  to  a  log 
over  the  wide-mouthed  clay-stick-and-stone  fire 
place. 

She  read  as  follows  :  "  Nearly  a  score  of  years 
ago,  a  pioneer  sought  a  home  in  one  of  the  West 
ern  States.  He  selected  a* quarter  section'  in 
a  dense  wilderness,  and  soon  entered  upon  the 
arduous  work  of  clearing  a  farm.  He  was  a 
man  of  athletic  constitution,  and  well  adapted  to 
cope  with  the  trials  on  the  frontier.  He  was  in 
the  prime  of  life ;  and  in  those  days  a  man  was 
.famous  according  as  he  had  ' lifted  axes  upon  the 
thick  trees.'  This  man  was  ranked  among  the 
leading  characters  in  that  region.  He  could 
bear  up  with  fortitude  under  all  trials  and  priva 
tions,  except  those  of  a  religious  kind. 

"  Before  his  removal  to  the  west,  he  had  en 
joyed  the  privileges  of  a  large  and  well-regulated 
church,  in  which  he  had  for  years  been  a  promi 
nent  member.  To  be  thus  suddenly  deprived  of 
those  blessed  means  of  grace  caused  him  many 
painful  feelings,  and  at  times  almost  incapacitated 
him  for  ordinary  duties.  This  subject  pressed  so 
heavily  on  his  mind,  that  he  often  sought  relief 
in  laying  his  wants  before  God  in  prayer.  One 
day  he  enjoyed  near  access  to  the  throne  while  on 
his  knees  in  a  secluded  part  of  the  forest.  He 
prayed  earnestly  that  God  would  make  that  wil 
derness  and  solitary  place  glad  with  the  sound  of 


A   SABBATH    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 


99 


the  gospel.  He  asked  for  the  church  privileges 
to  which  he  had  been  accustomed,  and  he  felt 
assured  that  God  could  grant  them.  So  much 
was  he  engaged  'in  pleading  for  this  blessing, 
that  he  forgot  his  work.  His  family  looked  for 
his  return  to  dinner,  but  he  came  not.  They 
were  alarmed,  and,  making  search,  found  him 
on  his  knees.  To  this  man  of  God  there  was 
something  peculiarly  pleasant  in  the  memory  of 
that  approach  to  the  mercy-seat.  He  loved  the 
spot  on  which  he  had  knelt,  and  determined  to 
mark  it.  It  was  by  the  side  of  a  beech  tree. 
He  '  blazed '  it,  so  that  in  after  years  it  might  re 
mind  him  of  the  incident  that  I  have  related. 

"That  prayer  was  speedily  answered.  God 
put  it  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  of  that  region 
to  build  a  sanctuary  in  the  desert.  They  have 
now  the  stated  means  of  grace.  That  pioneer  is 
one  of  the  officers  of  the  church.  The  mem 
bership  is  near  eighty.  The  cause  of  religion 
seems  to  be  flourishing  among  them.  Not  long 
since  it  was  my  privilege  to  preach  in  their  house 
of  worship  ;  it  was  filled  with  an  intelligent  con 
gregation.  At  the  close  of  the  services,  the  old 
man  gave  me  a  history  of  his  praying  under  the 
beech  tree,  and,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  closed 
by  saying,  '  That  tree  stood  only  about  five  feet 
from  the  very  spot  where  you  stood  while  preach 
ing  for  us  to-night.' " 


100  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  There,"  said  she,  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
narrative,  "I  felt  that  this  was  a  word  in  season 
to  me.  I  fell  upon  my  knees,  and,  with  in 
creased  earnestness,  pleaded  for  the  privileges  of 
the  gospel,  and  rose  feeling,  as  did  the  pioneer, 
that  God  would  grant  the  request.  But  how  did 
my  heart  leap  with  glad  surprise  the  next  day, 
—  that  is,  last  Wednesday,  —  when  a  neighbor 
called  to  consult  me  about  a  place  for  you  to 
preach  in  !  " 

But  it  was  time  for  service.  There  was  the 
same  thronged  attendance  and  absorbed  atten 
tion  as  in  the  morning.  How  delightful  to  pro 
claim  the  tidings  of  great  joy  to  those  who  are 
hungering  for  the  word  of  life  !  How  different 
from  ministering  to  fashionable  worldly  hearers, 
who  gather  in  the  house  of  God  for  intellectual 
entertainment,  or  from  motives  of  custom,  re 
spectability,  or  ostentation,  and  who  are  hardened 
by  the  ver}^  abundance  of  spiritual  instruction ! 

At  the  close  of  the  services,  with  the  social 
freedom  of  western  intercourse,  I  was  introduced 
to  most  present,  and  they  all  seemed  anxious  that 
I  should  make  a  home  in  their  neighborhood. 
How  different  it  would  be  to  settle  with  this  new 
people,  on  the  precarious  subsistence  which  I 
might  get  for  my  family  here,  preaching,  and 
perhaps  keeping  house,  in  a  log  cabin,  from  the 
situation  I  must  fill,  should  I  accept  the  call 


A    SABBATH    ON    37H£  ,MAllUE:    ;  IOI 


extended  by  the  large  nad  Wealthy  ditirth  iti 
N.  A  frontier  parish  'on  'a'  'prairie,*  ohv  the  Out 
skirts  of  civilization,  and  a  city  parish,  —  what  a 
contrast  !  But  my  heart  is  strongly  drawn  to 
wards  this  people.  Should  I  remain  with  them, 
what  would  my  money-loving,  place-seeking, 
eastern  friends  say? 

***** 

I  have  passed  another  delightful  Sabbath, 
notwithstanding  certain  trifling  violations  of  the 
proprieties  of  worship  as  observed  in  eastern 
assemblies. 

It  struck  me  quite  ludicrously,  at  first,  to  see 
mother's  listening  to  the  preaching  while  nursing 
or  dandling  their  infants.  Yesterday  a  fat,  burly 
baby,  who,  by  some  singular  good  fortune,  had 
an  apple,  —  for  we  never  see  that  fruit  here,  — 
let  it  drop  from  his  fat  fist,  and  it  rolled  nearly  to 
my  feet  ;  and  the  mother,  not  in  the  least  discon 
certed,  gravely  came  and  picked  it  up,  and  re 
turned  it  to  her  boy.  Nobody,  however,  was 
disturbed  by  the  incident  ;  all  appeared  to  take  it 
as  a  matter  of  course.  And  I  confess  I  like  this 
absence  of  fastidious  conventionalities.  Why 
should  the  mother  be  kept  from  the  house  of  God 
because  she  may  not  bring  her  child  with  her? 
"  Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and 
forbid  them  not,"  said  the  great  Preacher  when 
the  disciples  would  drive  out  of  his  congregation 


102    lc         THET  CABIN   ON   THE   PRAIRIE 


tte>r,  infants.  Is  the  servant 
particular"  tharT  his  Lord  ? 

Then,  too,  the  uncouth  garments  of  many  of 
my  log-cabin  hearers,  —  how  unlike  the  elegant 
and  costly  apparel  worn  in  our  eastern  sanctua 
ries  !  But  I  like  the  western  way  best  as  to  dress. 
I  enjoy  seeing  the  poor,  in  his  plain  attire,  sitting 
unabashed  by  the  side  of  the  man  in  "  goodly 
apparel."  And  when  I  consider  what  thousands 
of  starving  souls  are  kept  out  of  Christian 
churches  because  they  cannot  dress  in  broad 
cloth  and  silk,  and  how  much  money  is  wasted 
and  vanity  indulged  by  the  bedizened  crowds 
that  throng  our  sanctuaries,  I  am  thankful  that 
the  reign  of  fashion  is  unknown  on  the  frontier. 

But  these  hardy  pioneers  are  bold  and  inde 
pendent  thinkers.  The  preacher  must  show  him 
self  "  a  workman  that  needeth  not  to  be  ashamed, 
rightly  dividing  the  word  of  truth,"  if  he  would 
keep  his  hold  on  their  respect.  It  will  not  do  to 
be  careless  even  in  teaching  the  Sabbath  school. 
I'  was  suddenly  reminded  of  this  yesterday. 
Speaking  on  the  subject  of  benevolence,  I  had 
remarked  that  the  poorest  of  us,  if  we  were  care 
ful  not  to  waste,  might  have  something  that  we 
could  spare  as  well  as  not  to  those  needier  than 
ourselves.  And  I  inquired  if  any  scholar  could 
tell  me  what  scripture  enforced  this  lesson.  As 
no  one  responded,  I  read  the  account  of  the  mul- 


A    SABBATH    ON   THE    PRAIRIE.  103 

tiplying  of  the  loaves  and  fishes  when  Christ  fed 
the  fainting  multitudes  ;  and  coming  to  the  words, 
"Gather  up  the  fragments,  that  nothing  be  lost," 
I  asked,  "  Do  not  these  words  show  that  we  ought 
to  save  the  pieces,  that  we  may  give  them  to  the 
hungry?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  promptly  answered  a  lad  of  about 
sixteen. 

Thinking  he  had  misunderstood  the  question,  I 
repeated  it,  saying,  "I  asked,  Thomas,"  —  for 
that  was  the  boy's  name,  —  "if  this  language 
does  not  teach  that  we  should  save  what  we  are 
apt  to  throw  away,  that  we  may  have  something 
to  give  the  poor." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  does,"  he  replied. 

"Why  not?"  I  inquired. 

"Jesus  told  the  disciples  to  share  the  nice  new 
loaves  with  the  people,  and  to  keep  the  bits  and 
ends  for  themselves." 

He  was  right.  I  had  unconsciously  been  mak 
ing  that  great  miracle  of  mercy  teach  stinginess  ! 
How  often  I  had  heard  it  explained  to  polished 
audiences  in  New  England  in  the  same  way,  and 
not  a  criticism  offered.  Yet  the  one  who  pointed 
out  this  strangely-common  error  was  a  child  be 
longing  to  one  of  the  most  thriftless  of  these 
frontier  families.  His  name  is  Jones  ;  and  he  is,  I 
think,  a  lad  of  promise,  in  whom  I  am  becoming 
much  interested,  as  also  in  his  father,  a  restless, 


104  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

singular  being,  but  who  is   more  of  a  man,  in 
my  judgment,  than  he  seems. 

***** 

I  am  getting  to  feel  more  and  more  deeply 
that  duty  calls  me  to  labor  here.  If  it  were  not 
for  my  dear  wife  and  children,  I  should  decide 
at  once  to  remain.  But  how  could  she  get  along 
in  this  out-of-the-world  place?  Can  she  relin 
quish  the  comforts  of  her  eastern  home,  and  share 
with  me,  for  the  Master's  sake,  the  privations  of 
the  wilderness?  The  settlers  are  kind,  and  say 
we  shall  not  suffer.  A  subscription  paper  has 
been  started,  and  has  already  a  goodly  array  of 
names ;  and  brother  Palmer  —  an  excellent  man 
of  some  means  —  says  he  will  furnish  me  money 
with  which  to  build  a  neat  cottage. 


TOM'S  VICTORY.  105 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


TOM  retired  to  bed  the  night  after  his  mother 
had  confided  to  him  the  history  of  his  father's 
business  trials,  feeling  that  she  had  conferred  an 
honor  upon  him  in  thus  sharing  with  him  her  life- 
secret,  and  that  he  understood  his  parents  as  he 
never  did  before.  He  was  conscious,  also,  that 
she  had  put  him  under  new  obligation  to  be  always 
frank  with  her,  as  she  had  been  with  him ;  that 
she  had,  in  fact,  made  the  obligation  very  sacred, 
for  he  realized  that  it  was  an  act  of  condescension 
in  her  thus  to  make  him  the  repositary  of  her 
secrets,  while  to  share  his  with  her  was  but  the 
duty  of  a  child,  and  for  his  own  advantage.  And 
he  thought,  "  How  can  I  now  desert  the  family 
for  any  imaginary  good,  and  leave  her  to  reproach 
me  by  her  patient  cross-bearing  for  dear  father 
and  the  children's  sake  ?  " 

It  cost  him  a  bitter  struggle  to  act  in  accordance 
with  this  view.  In  the  darkness  of  the  night  he 
wrestled  long  and  hard  to  put  down  the  wish  to 
free  himself  from  the  burden  that  was  now  laid 


106  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

upon  his  conscience.  He,  the  squatter's  son, 
in  his  wretched  life,  had  built  up  a  golden  future 
for  himself,  as  the  ambitious  young,  of  every  con 
dition,  are  sure  to  do  when  once  the  heart  is 
roused  to  wish,  and  the  mind  to  plan,  for  great 
things.  And  now,  to  give  it  all  up,  and  come 
down  to  the  cheerless  drudgery  of  home-ser 
vice  in  such  a  home,  —  it  could  not  be  expected 
that  he  could  do  this,  only  after  a  severe  conflict 
with  his  own  nature,  if  at  all.  It  is  true  his 
mother  had  exhorted  him  to  wait  for  Providence 
to  open  the  door  before  him.  But  he  could  not 
help  recalling,  with  an  aching  heart,  through 
how  many  long,  weary  years  she  had  waited  ;  and 
what  door  of  relief  had  been  opened  for  her? 
And  was  she  not  a  thousand  fold  more  deserving 
of  such  an  interposition  than  he  ?  He  reflected  on 
this  point  till  his  brain  was  in  a  whirl ;  the  more 
he  pondered  the  matter,  the  darker  it  seemed. 

"  I  am  called,"  he  reasoned,  "to  keep  by  the 
family  if  I  never  see  brighter  days  —  that's  the 
meaning  of  her  words,  and  the  demands  of  my 
lot.  Am  I  ready  to  do  this  —  to  be  true  to  duty, 
if  it  involves,  as  it  has  to  her,  poverty,  seclusion 
from  privileges,  toil,  suffering,  obscurity?" 

He  knew  that  he  ought  thus  to  decide,  and  to 
decide  cheerfully.  But  he  could  not.  He  tried 
again  and  again  to  reach  the  decision  only  to 
recoil  from  it.  His  will  was  powerless  to  calm 


107 

the  rebellion  within.  Ah,  the  pioneer's  ragged 
son  had  been  precipitated  into  a  solemn  moral  cri 
sis,  which  tested  him,  and  showed  him  how  weak 
he  was  !  The  tumult  of  feeling,  and  sharpness 
of  the  battle,  had,  at  length,  cast  him  into  utter 
despair,  when  his  mother's  remark  concerning 
his  father's  mistake  in  setting  about  getting  rich 
by  the  strength  of  his  own  will,  abruptly  recurred 
to  him. 

"  What  did  she  mean  by  that?  "  he  asked  ;  and 
he  sat  bolt  upright  in  bed  to  consider  the  point. 

He  could  not,  however,  quite  master  the  idea, 
and  wished  his  mother  was  awake,  that  she  might 
explain  herself.  Then  his  mind  returned  to  the 
subject,  and  lo,  the  mist  rolled  away,  and  the 
truth  shone  out. 

"  I  see  it :  father  should  have  sought  direction 
and  strength  of  God.  And  that  is  just  what  I 
ought  to  do.  He  can  give  me  grace  to  perform 
my  duty,  —  yes,  even  to  choose  it." 

And  Tom,  under  the  inspiration  of  the  light 
that  was  breaking  in  upon  his  soul,  resolved,  — 

"  I'll  ask  God  to  enable  me  to  do  as  mother  has 
advised,  and  as  I  see  to  be  right  in  the  circum 
stances." 

And  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  he  lifted 
up  his  heart  in  prayer.  As  he  prayed,  a  heavenly 
peace  seemed  to  pervade  his  whole  being.  It 
stole  upon  him  so  gently  and  unexpectedly,  that 


IO8  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

he  felt  like  shouting  praises  to  God ;  and  at  last, 
unable  to  keep  his  marvellous  happiness  to  him 
self,  he  called,  softly,  — 

"  Mother,  mother  !  " 

"  What  do  you  wish,  my  son?  "  she  asked,  al 
ways  ready  to  answer  her  children's  calls. 

"  O,  mother,"  he  replied,  "I  have  been  strug 
gling  and  praying,  and  I've  got  the  victory." 

Instantly  she  was  kneeling  on  the  rough  floor 
by  his  side,  —  she  understood  him,  —  and  tears 
of  grateful  joy  ran  down  her  face,  and  she 
said,  — 

"  It  is  as  I  would  have  it,  Tom.  God  has  taken 
you  up,  and  all  will  be  well." 

Next  morning  Tom  arose  with  a  peaceful, 
serious  face.  His  mother  did  not  allude  to  the 
happy  change  that  had  transpired  within  him 
during  the  night,  but  as  she  busied  herself  about 
breakfast,  she  would  occasionally  wipe  away  the 
tears,  for  her  heart  was  full. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  as  they  finished  their  frugal 
meal,  "I've  been  thinking  it  would  be  a  good 
plan  to  get  up  all  the  wood  we  can  while  the 
weather  is  pleasant.  Winter  '11  be  coming  along 
by  and  by,  and  it'll  be  so  nice  to  have  a  warm 
fire  all  the  time  then,  and  not  have  to  wade 
through  the  snow  after  something  to  burn." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "  we  have  not  had  our  In 
dian  summer  yet ;  and  while  that  lasts  we  shall 


THE    INDIAN    ON    THE    PONY.  109 

use  but  little  fuel,  and  if  you  and  the  children  are 
smart,  you  can  get  quite  a  pile  ahead." 

"  Why  is  the  beautiful  spell  we  have  in  fall 
called  Indian  summer?"  he  asked. 

"Because,"  replied  his  mother,  "the  Indians 
were  in  the  habit  of  attacking  the  white  settle 
ments  then;  they  don't  go  on  their  war  expedi 
tions  after  cold  weather  sets  in.  And,"  she  added, 
sighing,  "  I  shall  be  glad  when  snow  comes,  for 
I  shall  feel  that  we  are  safe  until  spring  opens." 

"  The  Aliens  are  dreadful  mad  about  their  cat 
tle,"  remarked  Tom.  "The  old  man  tracked 
them  to  a  ravine  in  the  woods,  and  found  that  his 
oxen  had  been  killed  and  dressed  :  the  horns  and 
hide  lay  on  the  ground,  and  the  blood  was  scarce 
ly  cold,  but  not  an  Indian  was  to  be  seen.  He 
couldn't  even  find  a  trail,  and  he's  an  old  Indian- 
fighter,  you  know." 

"  Have  any  Indians  been  seen  near  here, 
since  ?  " 

"Yes;  Mr.  Payson,  the  missionary,  saw  one 
the  other  morning  as  he  was  going  from  Root 
River  settlement  to  Slough  Creek.  He  was  pass 
ing  the  Norwegian's  cabin,  near  the  grove,  when 
suddenly  a  Sioux  galloped  by  on  his  pony,  giving 
a  loud  whoop  as  he  rode  out  of  sight.  And  Mrs. 
Pingry  had  a  great  scare.  Her  husband  was 
away  after  supplies,  and  she  was  alone  about  her 
work,  when  the  door  opened  and  an  Indian  stalked 


IIO  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

in  and  took  a  seat.  Pretty  soon  a  second  came, 
and  did  the  same,  and  then  another  ;  until  a  dozen 
sat  round  the  room,  silently  smoking  their  pipes. 
She  says  she  knew  by  their  manner  and  the  way 
they  were  painted  that  they  intended  mischief. 
She  determined,  however,  not  to  appear  fright 
ened,  and  went  on  with  her  work.  Soon  one  of 
them  got  up  and  broke  open  her  husband's  trunk, 
and  then  the  rest  fell  to  rummaging  the  house, 
helping  themselves  to  whatever  they  wished  ;  and 
she  was  expecting  they  would  next  assault  her, 
when,  to  her  relief,  she  heard  the  barking  of  a 
dog,  and  the  rumbling  of  wheels,  at  which  the 
savages  took  alarm,  and  in  a  moment  were  gone." 

"  And  what,"  asked  Mrs.  Jones,  "  do  the  settlers 
think  of  this?" 

"  O,  they  only  laugh  about  it.  They  don't  ex 
pect  any  serious  trouble.  They  say  that  the 
chiefs  have  had  a  grand  talk  with  the  govern 
ment  agent,  and  declare  that  they  wish  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  us.  But  some  of  our  people  do 
all  they  can  to  provoke  the  Indians,  and  say  they 
would  like  to  have  a  brush  with  the  red-skins  ! " 

"  But  what's  that?  "  he  exclaimed,  as  loud  shouts 
and  the  barking  of  dogs  broke  on  their  ears. 
Mrs.  Jones  and  Tom  hurried  to  the  door,  and  saw 
some  men  and  boys  chasing  a  large  animal  across 
the  prairie. 

"  A  bear  !  a  bear  !  "  cried  a  neighbor,  rushing 


THE    CHASE.  Ill 

breathlessly  up  to  Tom,  saying,  "  Is  your  father 
at  home?  Tell  him  to  come  on,  and  we'll  pepper 
his  carcass  ! "  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
or  explaining  whose  carcass  he  meant,  he  hastened 
after  the  others. 

The  creature  that  they  were  pursuing  was  so 
fat  that  he  did  not  run  very  swiftly,  and  the  dogs 
gained  on  him ;  aware  of  which,  he  wras  making 
desperate  efforts  to  gain  the  shelter  of  a  small 
grove  not  far  off,  while  stringing  along  for  quite 
a  distance  behind  were  his  pursuers.  Some 
were  hatless,  a  few  had  guns,  but  most  were 
armed  with  pitchforks  or  clubs ;  and  one  man,  in 
his  zeal,  carried  a  piece  of  rusty  stove-pipe,  al 
though  what  use  he  proposed  to  put  it  to  in  cap 
turing  Bruin,  it  was  difficult  to  imagine,  unless 
he  intended,  should  Bear  gain  the  grove,  to  smoke 
him  out  with  it.  The  truth  is,  he  was  putting  up 
a  stove  in  his  cabin  when  the  cry  of  "Bear,  bear," 
interrupted  his  labors,  and  he  joined  the  chase, 
forgetting  that  he  held  anything  in  his  hand.  He 
was  wiry,  lank,  and  long-legged,  with"  sandy  hair 
that  came  down  straight  and  thin  upon  his  shoul 
ders,  and  being  without  his  coat,  with  pants  that 
reached  only  half  way  between  his  knees  and 
ankles,  he  cut  a  ludicrous  figure  as  he  straddled 
on,  followed  by  a  short,  dumpy  man,  who,  wad 
dle  as  ambitiously  as  he  might,  swiftly  fell  behind, 


112  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

without,  however,  seeming  in  the  least  discour 
aged. 

"  There,  they  are  surrounding  the  grove,"  said 
Tom,  as  the  men  and  boys  spread  out  from  the 
centre  till  they  had  encompassed  Bruin's  leafy 
retreat. 

Soon  there  was  the  report  of  guns,  and  not 
long  after,  the  hunters  returned,  looking  tired  and 
disappointed. 

"  The  bear  must  have  got  away,"  said  Mrs. 
Jones. 

But  Charley  came  rushing  towards  her,  and, 
throwing  up  his  cap,  cried, — 

"  O,  isn't  it  fun  !  It  wasn't  a  bear,  mother ;  it 
was  only  Mr.  Abbott's  black  hog  that  he  lost  last 
fall,  and  thought  was  dead.  He  had  run  wild, 
feeding  on  roots  and  acorns,  and  was  awful  fat. 
But  they  didn't  know  'twas  a  hog  till  they  shot 
him,  the  dogs  kept  up  such  a  yelping,  and  the 
grass  and  bushes  hid  him  so.  They've  gone  after 
a  wagon  to  take  him  home." 

But  Tom  was  at  work  making  an  opening  in 
the  fence  nearest  the  woods  ;  seeing  which,  Char 
ley  called  out,  — 

"  What  you  doing  that  for,  Tom?  " 

"  I've  been  thinking,"  answered  Tom,  pleasant 
ly,  "  that  we  shall  want  some  wood  near  the  cabin 
next  winter,  instead  of  digging  it  out  of  the  snow, 
and  I'm  fixing  a  place  to  drag  it  through." 


IN   THE   WOODS.  113 

"Yes,  children,"  added  the  mother,  "Tom  and 
I  have  been  talking  it  over.  Suppose  you  take 
hold  together  and  see  how  big  a  pile  you  can  get 
up.  It  will  be  so  nice  to  have  plenty  of  wood  to 
cook  the  corn-cakes  with,  and  keep  us  comfortable 
when  it's  freezing  weather  !  " 

The  project  pleased  the  youngsters,  even  to 
Bub,  and,  headed  by  Tom,  they  began  at  once 
to  put  it  into  execution. 

It  is  customary  in  new  countries  for  the  first 
comers  to  help  themselves  freely  to  the  trees  on 
government  land,  for  logs  with  which  to  construct 
their  cabins,  and  to  rive  into  shingles  and  saw 
into  boards ;  and  many  a  sinewy  oak  had  fallen 
before  the  frontiersman's  axe  in  the  woods  near 
the  Joneses,  leaving  the  brawny  limbs  upon  the 
ground.  There  were  also  many  dead  trees  still 
standing,  and  from  these  sources  dry,  hard  wood 
of  the  best  quality  could  always  be  obtained. 

Tom  directed  operations.  The  limbs  and  small 
dead  trees  were  thrown  or  dragged  in  piles  a  cer 
tain  distance  towards  the  field  ;  from  there  another 
took  them  to  the  opening  in  the  fence,  and  from 
thence  others  of  the  youngsters  pulled  them  up 
to  the  house.  The  girls  and  boys  had  a  merry 
time  of  it,  Sarah  making  the  woods  ring  with  her 
bird-like  voice  as  she  sang  at  her  task,  while 
many  a  joke  was  exchanged  by  the  lively  little 
company.  But  no  one  of  them  entered  on  the 
8 


114  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

labor  with  more  zeal,  and  a  higher  appreciation 
of  his  own  services,  than  Bub. 

"  That  child  is  always  under  foot,"  said  Eliza, 
as  she  stumbled  over  him  while  tugging  along  a 
scrawny  limb. 

"  You  ought  to  go  into  the  house,"  said  Tom ; 
"  I'm  afraid  you'll  get  hurt." 

"No,  I  won't,"  answered  the  child,  "tause  I 
dot  to  tarry  in  the  wood ; "  and  seizing  a  long 
branch  under  one  dimpled  arm,  and  a  short,  heavy 
one  under  the  other,  to  make  good  his  words, 
with  the  will  of  an  older  head,  he  started  for  the 
cabin. 

Out  from  under  his  arm  would  be  wrenched 
the  long  one  by  some  bush  beside  the  path,  and 
Bub  would  pick  it  up  and  pull  at  it  until  it  had 
cleared  itself,  when  down  would  go  the  big  piece 
from  the  other  arm.  Then  he  would  bravely  lift 
it  again,  his  baby  frock  going  up  with  it ;  and 
thus  dropping  his  load  and  picking  it  up,  with  an 
occasional  tumble,  which  he  would  not  cry  about, 
he  reached  the  house,  dragging  his  load  in  through 
the  door,  to  the  imminent  danger  of  knocking 
over  the  old  stove.  He  now  rested  from  his 
labors  to  eat  a  cold  potato  and  a  piece  of  his 
mother's  much-loved  corn-cake,  which,  while 
disposing  of,  he  dropped  asleep,  his  rosy  cheeks 
crammed  to  their  utmost  capacity. 

"Pooh  !  "  cried  Charley,  coming  noisily  in  "to 


BUBS    CHOICE.  115 

see  if  dinner  was  most  ready,"  "why  didn't  you 
keep  to  work,  like  the  rest  of  us?" 

'Bub  resumed  eating,  and  replied,  dignifiedly,  — 

"  Tause  I  found  out  that  it  wasn't  fun." 

The  unexpected  effect  of  his  answer  on  Char 
ley,  who  received  it  with  uproarious  laughter, 
highly  offended  the  child  ;  and  when  Charley  was 
out  of  sight,  he  said  to  his  mother,  — 

"  I  isn't  never  going  to  work  no  more." 

"  Ah,  why  not?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Tause  I  don't  like  to  work." 

"  Then,"  said  she,  "you'll  never  make  a  man." 

"  Do  men  have  to  work  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied. 

"Then  I  won't  be  a  man,"  he  answered,  de 
cidedly. 

"  Won't !  "  exclaimed  his  mother ;  "  what,  then, 
will  you  be  ?  " 

"  I  sail  be  a  missernary,  and  walk  wound,  and 
wear  dold  dlasses  !  " 


Il6  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   SURPRISE. 

"CAN  you  tell  me,  sir,  if  I  can  find  a  convey 
ance  for  myself  and  children  to  L — ,  Minne 
sota  ?  "  inquired  a  lady  of  the  attentive  clerk  at  a 
hotel  in  the  thriving  young  town  of  Dacotah, 
Iowa. 

"  There  is  no  stage  running  to  that  point,"  he 
replied;  "but  we  can  send  a  team  with  you,  if 
you  wish  to  go  to  so  much  .expense." 

"I  would  like,"  answered  the  lady,  smiling, 
"to  get  there  with  as  little  cost  as  I  can.  My 
husband  is  a  missionary.  I  am  on  my  way  to 
join  him." 

"I  will  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,"  returned 
the  clerk,  bowing  respectfully  ;  and,  stepping  into 
the  bar-room,  he  asked,  — 

"  Is  there  any  one  here  going  to  L to 
day?" 

"I  shall  go  half  way  there,"  said  a  short, 
sharp-nosed,  black-eyed  man,  who  sat  reading 
an  eastern  paper. 

"  Could  you  take  a  passenger  or  two  ?  " 


A   SURPRISE. 

"I'm  pretty  well  loaded,"  he  answered;  "But 
I  always  find  room  for  one  more,  seeing  it 
pays." 

"  It's  a  clergyman's  wife  and  children,"  said  the 
clerk,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"O,  well,"  replied  the  other,  rising  to  his  feet, 
"  they  shall  go  along,  pay  or  no  pay ; "  and  he 
followed  the  clerk,  who  introduced  the  parties  to 
each  other  with,  — 

"Mr.  Sawyer  —  Mrs.  Payson.  He  will  take 
you  as  far  as  he  goes." 

"And  how  far  is  that?"  she  inquired. 

"About  twenty  miles." 

"  But  how  shall  I  get  over  the  remainder  of  the 
distance  ?  " 

"Don't  be  concerned  about  that,"  replied  the 
man,  heartily.  "I  guess  there'll  be  a  way  to 
forward  you  all  right." 

And  in  a  half  hour  his  team  was  before  the 
door,  waiting  to  take  her*  farther  into  the  wil 
derness.  A  pair  of  stout  iron-grays  harnessed 
into  a  long,  open  wagon,  affording  space  for  a 
large  variety  of  boxes  and  packages,  and  three 
rows  of  cushionless  seats,  constituted  the  convey 
ance.  Its  owner  had  been  on  a  trading  expedi 
tion,  but,  with  an  eye  to  "the  main  chance,"  was 
prepared  to  catch  some  of  the  travel  going  west 
ward.  The  wagon  was  crowded  with  passen 
gers  ;  and,  disposing  of  the  three  children,  —  a 


Il8  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

\ 

delicate,  intelligent  little  boy  and  his  two  sisters, 
—  in  the  laps  of  those  already  seated,  the  team 
ster  assisted  the  mother  to  a  seat  at  his  side. 
Their  presence,  it  was  evident,  excited -much  in 
terest  ;  for  the  manner  and  dress  of  the  little  fam 
ily  betrayed  New  England  birth  and  culture. 

"  Your  husband,"  said  the  owner  of  the  con 
veyance,  as  his  horses  trotted  sturdily  along,  "  rode 
up  with  me  the  other  day.  He  had  been  down 
to  the  Mississippi  waiting  for  you  a  whole  week, 
and  the  landlord  at  McGreggor's  Landing  said 
he  was  the  bluest  man  he  ever  saw,  because  you 
did  not  arrive." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  he  was  anxious  on  my  ac 
count,"  replied  the  wife,  with  a  merry  laugh. 
"  He  didn't  wish  me  to  venture  on  the  journey 
alone  with  the  children,  and  wrote  that  he  would 
return  for  me  if  I  could  not  find  suitable  com 
pany  ;  but,  not  wishing  to  take  him  from  his 
labors,  I  packed  up,  and  took  our  darlings 
along." 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  meet  with  any  accident  on 
the  way,"  observed  a  man  on  the  back  seat. 
"You  was  pretty  resolute." 

"  No ;  but  I  came  near  losing  one  of  my  little 
girls." 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  "  asked  a  motherly-look 
ing  woman. 

"  It  was  in  the  depot  at  Springfield.     The  chil- 


CHILD    LOST. 

dren  were  thirsty,  and,  charging  them  not  to  stir 
until  I  came  back,  I  crossed  the  room  for  water. 
There  was  a  great  crowd  rushing  here  and  there, 
trains  were  coming  and  going,  all  was  bustle 
and  confusion,  and  I  hurried,  not  having  been 
away  but  a  moment ;  but  little  Fannie,  my  young 
est  girl,  was  missing.  Helen,  the  eldest,  had 
been  so  taken  up  with  the  sights  and  sounds 
about  her,  that  she  did  not  know  that  her  sister 
was  gone.  I  was  almost  frantic  with  fear,  she 
had  so  suddenly  and  completely  disappeared. 
So,  throwing  my  bonnet  back  upon  my  shoul 
ders  to  attract  attention,  I  cried  at  the  top  of  my 
lungs,  — 

"  My  child  !  my  child  !     I've  lost  my  child  ! " 

"  Child  lost !  child  lost !  "  shouted  a  number 
of  voices,  repeating  the  description  I  gave  of 
her.  Nobody  seemed  to  have  seen  her ;  and  a 
terrible  dread  that  I  might  not  find  her  wrung 
my  heart,  when,  to  my  joy,  above  the  din,  I  heard 
some  one  exclaim,  — 

"  She's  found !  she's  found !  Where's  the 
mother?"  and  a  gentleman,  holding  her  aloft, 
brought  her  to  me.  He  was  deeply  agitated, 
and  said,  — 

"Your  little  girl,  madam,  came  very  near  be 
ing  killed.  I  found  her  under  the  car  between 
two  of  the  wheels,  playing  with  them,  saying, 
'Car  may  hurt  a  me;  car  may  hurt  a  me.'" 


I2O  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

The  last  bell  had  rung,   and  I  had  barely  time 
to  drag  her  off  the  track  when  the  train  started." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  great  care  for  you,"  re 
marked  a  passenger,  M  to  bring  your  children  on 
so  long  a  journey." 

"  It  was,  indeed,"  she  replied.  "  Generally  the 
worst  part  of  it  was  in  getting  them  into  the 
trains  :  the  children  are  so  small,  and  the  rush 
of  passengers  so  great,  that  they  were  in  danger 
of  being  trampled  on,  or  prevented  from  getting 
aboard  in  season." 

"  Everybody  looks  out  for  Number  One  at  such 
times,"  said  a  man.  "  I  often  think  that  we  see 
more  of  the  selfishness  of  human  nature  while 
travelling  than  under  any  other  circumstances. 
I  suppose  you  were  left  to  get  along  as  best  you 
could  with  your  little  ones." 

"  Usually,"  she  replied.  "  Sometimes,  how 
ever,  a  stranger,  bound  the  same  way,  would 
give  us  a  helping  hand;  but  often  he  would 
blunder  so  as  to  make  matters  worse.  Once  I 
was  both  amused  and  frightened.  I  was  strug 
gling  to  place  my  children  on  a  train  just  starting, 
and,  making  little  headway.  I  called  out,  "Will 
some  one  help  my  children  into  the  cars  ? " 
when  one  of.  the  largest,  fattest  men  I  ever  saw, 
who  was  panting  and  puffing  from  his  unusual 
efforts  at  hurrying,  caught  up  my  little  boy,  and, 
trotting  on  like  an  elephant,  he  struck  his  foot 


QUEER    DISASTER.  121 

against  a  stone,  and  came  down  sprawling  into 
the  sand,  uttering  a  great,  wild  cry,  and  giving 
my  little  boy  a  throw  at  the  same  time.  I  felt 
sorry  for  the  man,  but  thought  I  should  die  laugh 
ing  at  the  queer  figure  he  cut.  And,  ungrateful 
as  it  seemed,  I  was  obliged,  in  going  for  my  boy, 
to  pass  around  our  huge  friend,  and  ride  off, 
leaving  him  to  pick  himself  up  at  his  leisure." 

There  was  much  merriment  at  this  recital, 
which  was  increased  by  a  portly  Englishman 
behind  her  saying,  in  a  jolly  way,  — 

"  Hi  feel  as  if  hi  could  happreciate  that  story, 
mem ! " 

"But  how  do  you  think  you'll  like  living 
west?"  asked  the  motherly  woman.  "It  seems 
to  me  that  the  likes  of  you  won't  know  how  to 
put  up  with  our  rough  ways." 

"O,"  replied  the  clergyman's  wife,  with  an 
enthusiasm  which  showed  what  manner  of  spirit 
she  was  of,  "I  did  not  come  out  here  for  enjoy 
ment,  but  to  cheer  and  help  my  husband  in  labor 
ing  for  Christ." 

"Well,"  answered  the  other,  wiping  a  tear  from 
her  eye,  "the  land  knows  we  need  such  folks 
among  us ;  and  if  we  don't  have  things  as  nice 
as  you  do  your  way,  I  hope  you'll  find  us  west 
erners  ready  to  do  what  we  can  for  the  good 
cause.  Most  of  us  have  seen  better  times,  and 
have  known  what  it  was  to  go  to  meeting  every 


122  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

Sunday,  and  do  our  mite  towards  supporting 
preaching,  and  we  are  willing  to  do  it  again." 

"  See,  mother,"  exclaimed  little  Helen,  —  a 
bright,  wide-awake  miss  of  six  years,  —  "what 
a  large  garden  !  " 

The  team  had  passed  the  irregular  ridges  of 
the  bluffs  extending  inland  from  the  Mississippi, 
and  had  attained  the  summit  of  a  gentle  swell  of 
land  commanding  an  extensive  prairie  view,  and 
the  whole  landscape  was  bedecked  with  flowers 
of  every  hue  and  shape.  The  child's  wondering 
eyes  danced  with  delight,  and  she  said, — 

"  Mother,  isn't  the  man  who  owns  this  great 
garden  very  rich  ?  " 

"  This  don't  belong  to  any  one  man,  my  dear," 
replied  her  mother,  smiling ;  "  it  is  one  of  God's 
gardens.  He  planted  all  these  flowers,  and  made 
them  grow  without  anybody's  help.  All  these 
are  wild  flowers." 

"  O,"  exclaimed  the  child,  "  how  good  he  is  !  — 
isn't  he,  mother?  Has  God  such  a  garden  where 
our  new  home  is  ?  " 

"I  expect  he  has,"  she  answered;  "for  out 
here,  my  child,  it's  almost  all  garden.  You 
might  ride  thousands  of  miles,  and  not  see  a  stone, 
or  any  sand  —  nothing  but  the  green  grass  and 
the  sweet  blooming  flowers." 

"  O,"   cried    Blue-eye,    clapping    her    hands, 


THE    ARRIVAL.  123 

"I'm  so  glad  we've  come  west!  —  aren't  you, 
mother?" 

The  passengers  were  delighted  with  the  prat 
tle  of  the  dear  girl,  and  the  matronly  lady  who 
had  her  in  charge  could  not  forbear  giving  her  a 
kiss,  and  said,  — 

"  I  hope  you  will  meet  with  nothing  more  un 
pleasant  than  prairie  flowers." 

But  just  then  the  child's  bright  eyes  caught 
sight  of  a  settler  pursuing  his  lonely  way  with 
his  gun  on  his  shoulder,  his  tall  figure  standing 
in  bold  relief  against  the  sky,  although  he  was 
several  miles  in  the  distance,  and  she  asked,  — 

"Mamma,  is  that  a  wild  man?"  And,  later, 
seeing  a  cow  grazing,  she  inquired,  "Is  that  a 
wild  cow?  " 

The  next  night,  about  sundown,  Mr.  Sawyer 
deposited  the  missionary's  family  at  Mr.  Lin 
coln's  snug  western  cottage. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln,  laughing,  as  she 
took  her  guest's  things,  "you've  stolen  a  march 
on  your  husband  this  time." 

"  Isn't  he  here?"  asked  Mrs.  Payson,  with  a 
disappointed  air. 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  He  spent  a  week  at  the 
Mississippi,  waiting  for  you.  And,  fearing  you 
might  get  carried  by,  or  injured  in  leaving  the 
steamer,  —  for  you  know  little  ceremony  is  used 
towards  passengers  or  their  goods,  —  he  visited 


124  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

each  boat  as  it  arrived,  and  had  the  porter  at  the 
hotel  call  him  up  at  every  boat  through  the  night, 
inquiring  of  the  passengers  if  they  had  seen  a 
lady  of  your  description  with  three  young  chil 
dren  ;  and  hearing,  since  he  returned,  that  one  re 
sembling  you  had  gone  to  the  Landing  higher  up 
on  the  river,  he  went  there  yesterday,  hoping  to 
meet  you,  and  bring  you  back  with  him.  He'll 
probably  get  here  late  this  evening ;  and  won't 
we  give  him  a  surprise  ?  " 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  the  missionary 
returned,  alone,  anxious,  and  dejected. 

"  You  don't  look  as  if  you  found  your  lost  wife 
and  babies,"  said  his  host,  sympathizingly. 

"  No,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  I 
inquired  thoroughly.  I  looked  the  papers  over 
also,  but  did  not  find  that  there  had  been  any 
railroad  accident  of  late.  I  am  afraid  she  has 
been  taken  sick  on  the  way.  It  was  barbarous 
in  me  to  listen  a  moment  to  the  idea  of  her  com 
ing  all  the  way  alone,  with  three  children,  from 
Massachusetts  to  Minnesota.  I  ought  to  have 
insisted  on  her  remaining  at  home  until  I  could 
have  gone  for  her." 

"Perhaps,"  suggested  Mr.  Lincoln,  "she 
thought  it  wasn't  prudent  to  venture  on  such  a 
journey,  and  wrote  you  so,  but  the  letter  has 
miscarried." 

"  I  know  her  too  well  to  think  so,"  responded 


A    SURPRISE.  125 

the  minister.  "  She  has  started  on  her  way  here. 
She  had  decided  to  do  so  as  a  matter  of  duty ; 
and,  having  made  her  mind  up  on  that  point,  she 
would  come  right  on  if  she  met  with  a  railroad 
accident  every  other  train  —  if  she  is  a  delicate 
little  body." 

"Well,  you  look  tired  enough  to  drop,"  said 
Mrs.  Lincoln,  abruptly,  turning  her  head  to  con 
ceal  a  smile.  "I  think  you  had  better  retire 
early." 

The  clergyman  was  quite  taken  aback  at  this 
piece  of  advice ;  but  Mr.  Lincoln  relieved  his 
astonishment  by  saying, — 

"  My  wife,  hoping  that  you  might  be  cheered  by 
the  arrival  of  your  family,  has  been  fixing  up 
your  room  a  bit,  and  I  suppose  she  won't  rest  to 
night  unless  she  sees  how  you  like  the  improve 
ments." 

And  Mrs.  Lincoln  opening  the  door  into  his 
apartment,  the  missionary  saw  before  him  his 
three  children,  sleeping  peacefully  in  their  nice 
beds,  and  his  wife  seated  in  a  rocking-chair,  ex 
ercising  a  world  of  self-control,  in  order  to  carry 
out  the  plot  of  surprising  him. 


126  THE   CABIN   ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  NO   WHISKEY   AT   THIS    RAISING  !  " 

IF  the  Scottish  bard  found  it  a  hard  experience 
that 

'The  best  laid  schemes  of  mice  and  men 
Gang  oft  agla ' 

in  staid  old  Scotland,  how  would  he  have  sung 
if  his  lot  had  been  cast  amid  the  vicissitudes  of 
frontier  life  on  an  American  prairie  ? 

We  speak  of  the  uncertainties  of  all  earthly 
expectations  where  society  organized,  helps  man 
in  a  thousand  ways  to  achieve  his  plans ;  but 
there  is  nothing  settled  in  a  new  country : 
everything  is  in  embryo,  and  therefore  disappoint 
ments  are  indefinitely  multiplied.  When  the 
immigrant  arrives  at  his  destination,  he  soon  finds 
that  his  most  reasonable  projects  prove  to  be  the 
veriest  air-castles,  and  that  his  reliance  must  be 
on  Providence  and  his  own  strong  arm.  This 
state  of  things  is  specially  trying  to  the  man  of 
small  means  and  unaccustomed  to  physical  toil, 
as  was  the  case  with  Mr.  Payson.  The  settlers, 
especially  those  of  religious  character,  had  made, 


NO    WHISKEY    AT    THIS    RAISING.  127 

in  true  western  style,  many  and  generous  prom 
ises  to  induce  him  to  live  among  them.  They 
designed  to  keep  their  engagements  with  him ; 
but  a  thousand  contingencies  were  continually 
arising,  which  they  could  not  foresee,  to  render 
the  fulfilment  of  their  agreements  impossible. 
But  perhaps  no  failure  in  this  direction  had  tried 
the  missionary  so  much  as  that  connected  with 
the  erection  of  a  dwelling-house.  Mr.  Palmer 
had  voluntarily  made  him  the  offer  of  money  for 
that  purpose,  and  if  any  man  could  be  depended 
upon,  it  was  he ;  but  he  had  invested  his  funds  in 
the  new  town.  He  was  a  prudent  man,  and  when 
the  proposal  was  made  him  by  the  two  proprietors 
to  join  them  in  the  enterprise,  he  was  disinclined 
to  do  so.  They  were  irreligious  men,  stirring, 
energetic  workers,  but  devoid  of  interest  in 
"things  unseen,"  and  therefore  could  not  be  ex 
pected  to  care  for  the  present  and  future  moral 
condition  of  the  settlement.  Yet  we  should  do 
them  the  justice  to  say  that  they  were  not  indif 
ferent  to  the  religious  welfare  of  their  village, 
only  that,  not  being  religious  men,  they  would  not 
take  the  matter  in  charge  themselves  ;  they  needed 
a  leader,  both  to  plan  and  to  set  a  wholesome 
example,  and  this  was  one  reason  for  their  asking 
Mr.  Palmer  to  become  a  partner.  This  reason 
was  a  weighty  one  with  him  ;  but  before  deciding 
the  question,  he  consulted  with  Mr.  Pay  son. 


128  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

Laying  the  whole  matter  before  him,  he 
asked,  — 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  engaging  in  this 
thing?" 

"I  do  hope,"  he  answered,  "that,  if  you  can 
make  it  pecuniarily  successful,  you  will  become 
a  town  owner.  I  should  feel  that  I  had  a  pillar 
to  lean  upon  in  all  my  endeavors  for  the  social 
and  religious  good  of  this  people,  and  it  seems  to 
me  that  there  can  be  no  risk  in  it;  we  have 
everything  here  to  make  a  town,  —  water-power, 
timber,  limestone  quarries  for  building  material, 
abundance  of  clean  prairie  land  for  agricultural 
purposes,  and  sooner  or  later  a  railroad  must  pass 
very  near  here,  as  it  is  on  the  great  travelled 
route  to  the  important  points  west  and  north. 
Emigration  is  coming  in  well ;  we  have  a  religious 
meeting  established,  and  I  hope  soon  we  shall 
have  a  school." 

"  That  is  the  way  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Mr. 
Palmer ;  "  and  it  appears  also,  that  I  might  do  a 
great  deal  of  good  by  using  aright  the  power  a 
town  owner  might  have." 

So  he  decided  to  make  the  investment.  But 
mishap  after  mishap  occurred  to  thwart  the  enter 
prises  of  the  town  owners ;  and  while  their  ex 
penses  were  large,  the  returns  were  so  small  that 
Mr.  Palmer  came  to  the  preacher  one  day,  and 
with  emotion  said,  — 


NO   WHISKEY   AT    THIS    RAISING.  129 

w  Mr.  Payson,  I  fear  I  shall  have  to  disappoint 
you  about  the  money  I  promised  to  let  you  have 
for  the  building  of  your  cottage." 

This  was  a  heavy  blow  to  the  missionary,  and 
his  friend  knew  too  well  that  it  would  be,  for  Mr. 
Payson  had  set  his  heart  on  having  a  comfortable 
home  provided  for  his  family  when  they  should 
arrive.  Many  a  pleasant  bit  of  correspondence 
had  passed  between  himself  and  wife  on  the  sub 
ject  of  the  pretty  white  cottage,  on  the  eighty- 
acre  lot  adjoining  the  town,  and  the  joy  of  meet 
ing  her  was  overshadowed  by  the  thought  that 
she  had  come  to  a  homeless  wilderness,  while 
expecting  something  so  different ;  and  when  she 
asked  repeatedly  if  the  cottage  was  ready,  and 
when  he  was  going  to  take  her  to  see  it,  in  his 
unhappiness  he  avoided  a  direct  reply,  which, 
with  the  ominous  silence  of  the  good  friends  by 
whom  they  were  entertained,  led  her  to  conjecture 
how  matters  stood ;  and  one  day  she  lifted  the 
weight  in  a  measure  from  his  heart  by  saying,  — 

"It  would  be  very  strange,  while  almost  ev 
erybody  in  a  new  country  are  obliged  to  live  in 
log  cabins,  if  we  should  be  enough  better  off 
to  put  up  a  framed  house.  I  don't  believe  you 
have  been  able  to  yet ;  it  is  too  much  to  expect. 
But  never  mind ;  if  others  can  live  within  log 
walls  for  the  sake  of  making  money,  we  certainly 
can  for  a  higher  motive." 
9 


I3O  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

"Just  like  yourself,"  said  he,  gratefully,  relat 
ing  the  facts  as  we  have  recited  them. 

"  But  what  are  we  going  to  do?  "  she  inquired ; 
w  we  ought  not  to  think  of  accepting  the  hospitality 
of  this  generous-hearted  family  much  longer. 
Their  house  is  already  so  crowded,  it  puts  them 
to  great  inconvenience." 

"  I  am  aware  of  it,"  said  her  husband.  "  Mr. 
Palmer  has  a  little  cabin  which  he  has  offered 
me  for  temporary  use  until  I  can  put  up  something 
on  my  claim ;  but  it  is  so  rough  and  lonely,  that 
on  your  account  I  have  not  felt  like  saying  any 
thing  to  you  about  it." 

"O,"  said  she,  merrily,  "do  take  me  there  to 
day;  it  would  be  so  romantic  to  live  in  a  log 
cabin." 

So,  their  host's  team  being  chartered,  they  went 
to  look  at  the  "rent."  It  was  a  funny  wee  log- 
gery,  hastily  put  up  for  pre-emption  purpose, 
standing  in  a  small,  enclosed  field  near  the  river, 
two  miles  from  town,  the  nearest  neighbor  being 
Mr.  Jones,  who  lived  a  mile  and  a  half  farther 
down  the  "stream. 

Mr.  Palmer,  in  anticipation  of  the  visit,  had 
been  there  before  them,  and  put  in  a  whole  glass 
window,  laid  the  rough  boards,  that  constituted 
the  floor,  more  closely,  and  put  up  some  shelves 
for  a  cupboard  in  a  corner. 

"This  is  elegance  itself!"  exclaimed  the  little 


NO   WHISKEY   AT   THIS    RAISING.  131 

woman,  laughing  heartily :  "  get  a  few  chairs, 
and  a  stove,  husband,  and  we'll  move  right  in ; 
and  see,"  she  added?  looking  out  of  the  door ; 
"there  are  potatoes  here  that  have  not  been 
dug  —  quite  a  crop :  perhaps  you  can  buy  the 
right  to  use  them." 

"  O,  yes,"  replied  her  husband ;  "brother  Palmer 
says  we  can  have  the  use  of  the  cabin  free,  and 
all  there  is  about  it." 

"  The  fish  in  the  river,  too,  I  suppose,"  said 
she,  stepping  to  the  fence,  and  peering  over  the 
river  brink. 

"  I  reckon  you  won't  get  fish  enough  to  get 
sick  on  them,"  said  a  voice  near ;  and,  Mr.  Jones 
emerged  from  a  clump  of  bushes,  his  gun  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  This  is  our  neighbor,"  said  the  minister ;  "  my 
wife,  Mr.  Jones." 

"  Looking  up  a  cage  to  put  your  bird  in  ?  "  asked 
the  squatter. 

The  minister  replied  affirmatively. 

"  You  found  that  eighty-acre  lot  just  as  I  told 
ye  —  didn't  ye  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Precisely." 

"  And  did  your  '  brother  Smith '  give  it  up  like 
a  Christian?"  he  pursued. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  the  proprietor  of  it  now,"  said 
the  minister,  good-naturedly. 


132  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  And  he  didn't  charge  you  anything  for  giving 
up  what  was  not  his  —  did  he?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  missionary  ;  "  he  did  not  charge 
me  anything  for  the  claim,  although  he  seemed 
to  think  it  right  that  I  should  give  him  something 
for  the  improvements." 

"  Improvements  !  Yes,  I  suppose  he  expects 
some  pay  for  the  saw  logs  he  stole  from  the  lot, 
while  he  had  acres  on  acres  of  timber  of  his  own. 
It's  no  more  'n  fair  that  a  Christian  man  should 
be  paid  for  the  lumber  he  plunders  from  other 
folks'  land.  You  paid  him  for  that,  of  course?" 

"  O,  no,"  replied  Mr.  Payson  ;  "  he  didn't  bring 
in  his  bill  for  that.  He  had  cleared  and  fenced 
the  ten-acre  piece  over  the  river,  and  he  said  he 
didn't  wish  to  lose  his  labor." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  almost  fiercely,  "I 
wasn't  aware,  elder,  that  you  employed  him  to 
do  that  little  job ;  I  thought  that  was  done  last 
year,  'fore  we  knew  anything  'bout  you  in  these 
parts." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  missionary,  coloring. 

"And  I  rather  think,"  he  continued,  "that  he 
got  his  pay  for  his  work,  as  he  expected  to,  in  what 
he  took  from  the  land.  I  never  saw  better  corn 
and  wheat,  let  alone  the  potatoes  and  the  pump 
kins  that  he  raised  on  that  river  bottom  ;  and  as 
to  the  rails,  they  belong  where  he  took  them  from, 
that  eighty-acre  lot  that  he  robbed  and  impover- 


NO    WHISKEY   AT    THIS    RAISING.  133 

ished,  tilling  the  soil  in  the  summer,  and  cutting 
down  the  best  trees  in  the  winter,  and  working 
what  he  didn't  care  about  into  rails ;  and  now  he 
turns  around,  —  after  having  skimmed  your  milk, 
when  he  had  plenty  of  his  own,  —  and  tells  you, 
as  a  Christian  brother,  that  you  orter  pay  him  for 
taking  off  the  cream,  and  making  butter  of  it  for 
his  own  table.  May  I  ask  what  he  charged  you 
for  the  operation?  " 

"  He  asked,"  said  the  minister,  "  eighty  dollars, 
but  concluded  to  take  thirty." 

"  And  when  you  form  your  church  you'll  choose 
him  first  deacon  —  won't  you?  "  said  the  squatter, 
sneeringly. 

"  Neighbor  Jones,"  said  the  minister,  quietly, 
"  I  find  that  Mr.  Smith's  character  is  pretty  well 
understood  among  the  settlers.  From  all  I  can 
learn,  I  judge  that  he  has  never  been  a  member 
of  a  church,  but  is  one  of  a  too  large  class,  who 
try  to  palm  themselves  off  on  religious  people, 
that  they  may  the  better  carry  out  their  own 
wicked  and  selfish  ends.  I  did  not  pay  him  the 
thirty  dollars  because  he  had  a  right  to  ask  it  of 
me,  but  because  I  had  rather  sacrifice  something 
than  to  expose  the  spiritual  welfare  of  this  people 
by  giving  an  occasion  for  a  quarrel,  however  un 
justly  ;  and,  mark  me,  the  time  will  come  when 
that  money,  small  as  the  amount  is,  will  be  a 
burden  to  the  conscience  of  that  man.  But,"  he 


134  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

added,  suddenly  changing  the  subject,  "  we  expect 
to  have  a  raising  on  my  lot  day  after  to-morrow. 
Cannot  I  rely  on  you  for  a  lift  ?  " 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "what  are  you  going  to  put  up 
there  —  a  framed  house  ?  " 

"O,  no,"  replied  the  minister,  smiling,  "only  a 
few  logs.  The  town  owners  are  going  to  let  me 
take  down  the  log  house  they  have  used  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  —  as  the  logs  are  so  well 
seasoned,  —  and  put  them  up  on  my  place ;  and, 
wife,"  —  turning  to  her,  —  "  we  shall  have  to  de 
pend  on  you  for  refreshments  for  the  occasion." 

"You  have  given  me  short  notice,"  she  replied, 
"  but  I  can  have  things  ready  if  you  can  manage 
to  get  supplies,  and  a  stove  up  in  season." 

"  If  you  want  a  little  help  in  getting  started 
here,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  "  I'll  send  up  my  Tom  ;  I 
guess  he'd  like  to  lend  you  a  hand." 

"  Could  he  come  to-day?  "  asked  Mrs.  Payson. 

"  I'll  send  him  right  along,"  said  the  squatter, 
as  he  bent  his  steps  towards  home. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  for  a  stove  ?  "  asked 
the  wife,  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight. 

"  That  '11  be  forthcoming,"  said  the  minister. 

Tom,  having  made  his  appearance,  was  re 
quested  by  Mr.  Payson  to  take  the  team  and  go 
to  town,  and  say  to  Mr.  Palmer  that  they  had  de 
cided  to  move  into  the  cabin,  and  would  like  to 
get  settled  before  night ;  which  message  brought 


NO   WHISKEY  AT   THIS    RAISING.  135 

Mr.  Palmer  back  with  Tom,  accompanied  by  a 
wagon-load,  containing  a  large  cooking-stove, 
a  bag  of  flour,  some  chairs,  a  little  crockery,  and 
a  supply  of  various  eatables.  And  by  nightfall 
the  missionary  family  were  domiciled  in  the  fron 
tier  cabin  ;  and  the  next  morning  you  would  have 
thought  the  missionary's  wife  already  quite  *  wes 
ternized,'  with  her  neat  calico  and  tidy  apron,  busy 
in  her  preparations  for  the  house-raising. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  stay  in  a  borrowed  house  a 
great  while,"  she  said.  "Husband,  how  soon  do 
you  calculate  that  we  can  be  housekeeping  in 
our  own  cabin  ?  " 

"  It  will  take  some  weeks,  do  our  best,"  he 
answered. 

"Well,"  she  rejoined,  "I'll  set  the  time  four 
weeks  from  to-day ;  and  if  it  isn't  ready  then,  I 
shall  go  into  it  if  I  have  to  leave  you  behind." 

But  how  slowly  everything  dragged,  except 
the  raising  !  The  settlers  went  into  that  with  right 
good  will ;  men  and  teams  were  busy  drawing 
the  logs,  while  experienced  hands  placed  them 
properly  upon  each  other,  till  the  ridge-pole 
crowned  the  whole.  Then  they  sat  down  on 
the  grass  to  partake  of  the  tempting  eatables  that 
Tom  and  Mr.  Payson  had  brought  on  the  ground. 
There  were  the  light  biscuits  and  the  golden 
butter,  nice  venison  steaks  for  which  they  were 
indebted  to  the  rifle  of  Mr.  Jones,  dried  apple 


136  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

turnovers,  and  the  sheets  of  crisp  gingerbread, 
loaf  cake,  and  fragrant  coffee." 

"  We  don't  get  any  whiskey  at  this  raising  !  " 
said  Mr.  Palmer,  nudging  his  next  neighbor. 

"  No,"  he  replied ;  "  and  it's  an  example  that  I 
hope  will  be  often  followed." 

Then  there  was  the  door  to  be  made  and  hung, 
and  the  windows  to  be  put  in,  and  the  crevices 
between  the  logs  to  be  mortared,  and  the  floors 
laid  —  long  and  tedious  operations,  where  every 
body  was  over-busy,  and  labor  could  be  hired 
neither  "  for  love  nor  money."  Mr.  Payson  found 
that  much  of  the  work  had  to  be  done  by  himself, 
with  the  occasional  help  of  Tom.  He  was  city- 
bred,  and  his  bodily  strength  feeble  ;  but  necessity 
obliged  him  to  perform  prodigies  of  teaming,  lift 
ing,  and  joinering,  and  even  of  quarrying  stone 
for  the  well  that  was  being  dug.  A  few  weeks 
had  wrought  a  wonderful  change  in  the  man  of 
books  ;  his  study  was  wherever  he  chanced  to  be  ; 
his  white  hands  had  become  horny  and  browned, 
his  pale  face  tanned.  His  retiring  habits  had 
given  place  to  a  broad  sociality,  his  diffidence  to 
a  generous  self-reliance,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  could  do  and  dare  almost  anything.  From 
early  morning  till  late  at  night  he  worked  to  get 
his  log  home  ready,  while  his  wife  and  little 
ones  remained  in  the  solitary  cabin  by  the  river 
side.  It  was  a  long  walk  for  him,  however,  after 


A    LOG-HOUSE    BELL.  137 

toiling  all  day ;  and  when  the  sky  was  overcast  at 
nightfall,  he  was  in  danger  of  getting  lost.  This 
gave  his  wife  much  uneasiness ;  then  she  feared 
that  he  might  meet  some  prowling  wolf,  or  other 
beast,  in  the  darkness ;  and  when  he  was  very 
late,  she  would  be  sure  to  think  he  was  lost,  and 
would  ring  her  house-bell,  which  consisted  of  a 
tin  pan,  on  which  she  would  drum  vigorously 
with  the  stove-lifter.  She  said  he  would  recog 
nize  that  sound,  she  thought,  at  a  great  distance. 

But  the  four  weeks  went  by,  and  on  account  of 
the  difficulty  of  getting  lumber,  and  other  neces 
sary  articles,  the  roof  was  still  unshingled,  and 
the  floor  only  half  laid.  The  wife,  like  most 
women,  had  a  very  good  memory  for  dates.  The 
log  cabin  they  occupied  was  open,  and  the  prairie 
winds  cold  and  piercing,  and  for  a  few  days  she 
had  been  quite  ill ;  but  that  morning,  after  her 
unsuspicious  husband  had  left  for  his  joinering, 
Tom  might  have  been  seen  guiding  a  yoke  of 
cattle,  attached  to  a  cart,  into  the  enclosure,  which, 
after  much  "  geeing  "  and  "  gee-hawing,"  he  man 
aged  to  make  stand  before  the  door. 

"  Charlie,"  said  he,  as  that  urchin  made  his 
appearance  from  the  inside  of  the  cart,  "  you  stand 
by  the  cattle  while  I  put  the  things  aboard." 

And  bringing  out  a  barrel  filled  with  crockery 
and  other  things,  which  Mrs.  Payson  had  clandes 
tinely  packed  for  the  occasion,  and  the  wash- 


138  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

boiler  full  of  eatables,  and  hanging  the  chairs 
over  the  cart  stakes,  he  took  down  the  bedsteads, 
and  placed  them  in  a  manner  that  was  highly 
satisfactory  to  the  energetic  minister's  wife,  and 
tying  up  the  bed-clothes  in  great  bundles,  de 
posited  them  also ;  and  saying  to  Mrs.  Payson, 
"I  shall  have  to  fix  an  easy  place  for  you  to 
ride,  as  you've  been  sick,"  he  laid  the  hard 
beds  in  the  empty  space  which  he  had  left  for 
that  purpose  in  the  cart,  with  the  feather  beds 
above,  saying, — 

"  There,  you  won't  feel  the  motion  much  now  ;  " 
and  assisting  her  to  mount,  she  was  enthroned  on 
her  downy  seat  on  the  top  of  the  load,  with  the 
children  in  high  glee  by  her  side. 

The  steers,  which  were  notoriously  unruly,  as 
if  aware  that  they  had  a  minister's  wife  aboard, 
behaved  with  becoming  decorum  under  Tom's 
wise  supervision. 

Now,  it  chanced  that  some  careless  hunter,  firing 
into  the  dry  prairie  grass  on  the  other  side  of  the 
town,  had  started  a  fire.  Mrs.  Payson  had  noticed 
in  the  morning  that  there  was  a  smell  of  burning 
in  the  air,  and  a  hazy  appearance,  but  had  at 
tached  no  particular  importance  to  it ;  but  as  they 
approached  the  town,  a  scene  of  great  magnifi 
cence  burst  upon  her.  The  fires,  driven  with 
velocity  before  the  wrind,  had  swept  over  the  prai 
ries,  and  reached  the  belt  of  woods,  in  a  portion 


FIRE    ON   THE    PRAIRIE.  139 

of  which  were  the  eighty  acres  that  her  husband 
was  at  work  upon.  The  flames  were  crackling 
and  roaring  in  the  forests,  burning  up  the  dry 
underbrush,  shooting  to  the  tops  of  the  old  dead 
pines,  so  that  the  scene  being  constantly  on  her  left, 
was  more  or  less  in  view  for  most  of  the  distance. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Tom,  in  alarm. 
"  Had'nt  we  better  go  back?  " 

"  Do  you  think  the  fire  has  reached  my  hus 
band's  claim?"  she  answered. 

Tom  scanned  the  appearance  of  the  smoke 
with  a  practised  eye,  and  at  length  replied,  — 

"  No ;  it's  not  got  as  far  as  there  yet." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  ? "  she  inquired,  anx 
iously. 

"  If  the  wind  does  not  change,  it  must  before  a 
great  while,"  he  said,  "although  it  will  have  to 
cross  the  road,  which  will  backen  it  some." 

"Would  it  burn  up  the  cabin,  then?"  she  in 
quired. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would,"  he  answered. 

"Well,"  said  she,  firmly,  "I  said  I  would  go 
into  that  cabin  in  four  weeks,  and  if  it's  not  burnt 
down,  I  shall  keep  my  word.  At  any  rate  we 
shall  be  in  season  to  see  the  fire  !  "  Then  she  add 
ed,  looking  grave,  "I  do  hope,  if  it  is  the  Lord's 
will,  that  the  fire  will  be  checked  in  time,  my  hus 
band  has  toiled  so  hard." 

As  the  cart  turned  up  the  main  street  of  the 


140  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

town,  she  caught  sight  of  the  cabin  that  was  to 
be  her  future  home,  and  she  saw  her  husband, 
too,  at  the  same  moment,  for  there  he  sat  on  the 
roof,  gazing  at  the  fire,  which  seemed  to  be  dying 
out.  He  heard  the  rumbling  of  the  wheels  as 
they  drew  near,  and  as  he  caught  sight  of  the 
picturesque-looking  object  approaching,  he  called 
out,  — 

"  Why,  what  under  the  canopy  have  we  here  ? 
Wife,  and  babies,  and  household  effects  !  What 
does  this  mean  ?  You  are  not  going  to  emigrate 
farther  west  —  are  you? " 

"  If  you'll  descend  from  your  elevated  position," 
she  replied,  cheerily,  "  I'll  condescend  to  inform 
you.  Now,"  she  added,  "you  know  I  told  you, 
husband,  I  should  move  into  the  cabin  to-day ; 
and  did  you  ever  know  me  to  break  my  word  ?  " 

"  But,"  said  he,  looking  disconcerted,  "  I'm  not 
ready  for  you  yet ;  the  floor  isn't  half  laid." 

"Well,"  she  replied,  "I  can't  stand  it  to  have 
you  sweating  up  here  all  alone  at  your  task,  run 
ning  the  risk  of  being  devoured  by  the  wolves, 
or  losing  your  way  at  night  because  you  think 
the  cabin  isn't  comfortable  enough  for  me.  Why, 
you  are  as  particular  about  having  everything  done 
just  so  about  this  cabin,  as  you  used  to  be,  east,  in 
having  every  word  exactly  in  its  place  when  you 
wrote  your  sermons.  Please,  now,  just  help  Tom 
unload,  and  set  these  things  in,  and  I'll  have  tea 


A   STRANGE    OCCURRENCE.  14! 

ready  directly,  and  we'll  be  where  we  can  cheer 
you  a  bit.     But  what  about  this  fire?  " 

"  Our  cabin  has  had  a  very  narrow  escape." 
"Yes,"  said  Tom,  coming  up,  "I've  been  out 
to  look,  and  the  fire  just  came  up  to  your  line, 
and  then  stopped." 

Mr.  Pay  son  was  deeply  affected  by  the  intelli 
gence,  for,  knowing  that  no  human  power  could 
stay  the  advancing  flames,  upon  the  cabin  top  he 
had  been  praying  that  the  wind  might  change. 
Was  it  in  answer  to  his  silent  petitions  that  it  had 
taken  place  in  so  timely  a  manner? 


142  THE   CABIN   ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER   XL 

OLD    MRS.    SKINFLINT     IN    TROUBLE.  —  LOST    IN 
THE   WOODS. 

THERE  is  no  man  so  bad  as  he  might  be  — 
a  fact  that  everybody  knows,  but  that  most  are 
apt  to  forget  in  their  estimate  of  those  who  have 
offended  their  sense  of  right. 

Mr.  Smith  had  his  virtues  as  well  as  faults ; 
perhaps  more  of  the  latter  than  the  former ;  but 
there  were  some  mollifying  circumstances  to  be 
taken  into  the  account  in  the  summing  up  of  his 
character.  His  natural  love  of  money  had  been 
stimulated  and  intensified  by  the  malign  influence 
of  his  wife.  She  was  miserly  when  he  married 
her.  To  keep  what  she  had,  and  get  what  she 
could,  was  her  ruling  passion ;  besides  which  she 
had  a  passion  for  ruling.  And  often,  when  her 
husband's  gentler  heart  would  be  touched  by  a 
tale  of  suffering,  and  his  hand  be  opened  to  re 
lieve  the  distressed,  would  she  interfere  to  pre 
vent  the  indulgence  of  the  benevolent  impulse ; 
and  now,  after  some  thirty  years'  matrimonial 
moulding,  he  had  become  so  assimilated  to  her 


OLD    MRS.    SKINFLINT    IN   TROUBLE.          143 

grasping  spirit,  and  so  accustomed  to  yield  to  her 
stronger  will,  that  his  dealings  in  business  made 
him  appear  worse  than  he  really  was.  In  the 
sale  of  the  "  eighty-acre  lot "  to  the  missionary, 
about  which  much  indignation  was  felt  in  the 
settlement,  Mrs.  Smith  was  the  chief  actor. 
Mr.  Smith  was  the  monkey  employed  to  pull  the 
chestnuts  out  of  the  fire,  although,  it  must  be 
confessed,  he  relished  the  chestnuts.  She  was  a 
crafty  woman,  and  kept  out  of  sight  in  the  trans 
action  while  she  urged  him  on,  so  that  people 
saw  only  Mr.  Smith  in  the  wrong-doing,  when, 
if  they  could  have  peeped  behind  the  curtain,  they 
would  have  seen  that  his  "  better  half"  was  the 
more  guilty. 

The  thirty  dollars  which  Mr.  Smith  finally 
consented  to  take  for  the  "  improvements  on  the 
claim,"  Mr.  Payson  was  unable  to  pay  all  at 
once ;  he  was,  therefore,  subjected  to  many  vex 
atious  -duns  for  the  balance.  Fearing  that,  at 
last,  her  husband  would  relent,  and  the  debt 
might  not  all  be  realized,  Mrs.  Smith  resolved 
to  turn  collector  herself.  So,  putting  on  her  best 
cap,  and  her  faded  black  alpaca,  she  made  her 
way  through  the  woods  to  the  missionary's  cabin. 

When  she  reached  it,  she  found  no  one  but 
Tom  and  Bub  within ;  for  Mr.  Lincoln  had 
called  with  his  team,  and  taken  the  family  to 
dine  at  his  house. 


144  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"Is  the  minister  to  home?"  she  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  Tom. 

"When  will  he  be  back?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Tom;  "but  he  expects 
to  attend  a  wedding  this  evening,  and,  as  it's 
now  'most  four,  I  expect  him  every  minute." 

"Then,"  said  she,  "I  guess  I'll  take  a  chair 
and  wait.  My  husband  has  a  small  bill  agin 
him,  and  I  thought  maybe  he'd  just  as  lief  pay 
it  now  as  any  time." 

She  was  garrulous  and  inquisitive,  plying  Tom 
with  all  sorts  of  questions  about  the  minister's 
family,  much  to  the  anmyyance  of  the  lad,  who, 
remembering  that  there  were  certain  errands  yet 
to  be  done  that  afternoon,  —  for  Tom  was  now 
often  at  the  cabin  assisting  the  minister,  —  he 
asked  her  if  she  would  look  after  Bub  while  he 
went  to  the  village,  saying  he  thought  it  likely 
the  family  would  return  before  he  did.  The  old 
lady  rather  liked  the  arrangement,  as  it  would 
give  her  a  chance  to  inspect  the  housekeep 
ing  of  the  minister's  wife ;  and,  watching  Tom 
till  he  was  well  into  town,  she  commenced  her 
examinations.  First  she  opened  the  closet  door 
to  see  how  the  dishes  were  arranged,  for  she  had 
heard  that  once  on  a  time  the  good  man's  lady 
had  committed  the  great  crime  of  writing  a  book ; 
and  she  had  often  remarked  that  "  anybody  that 
could  waste  their  time  in  sich  a  way  must  be  a 


OLD    MRS.    SKINFLINT    IN    TROUBLE.         145 

master  slack  housekeeper."  To  her  disappoint 
ment,  however,  she  found  that  quite  as  good 
order,  and  rather  more  taste,  reigned  there  than  in 
her  own  pantry,  but  was  relieved  again  a  moment 
at  finding  an  unwashed  plate. 

"Just  as  I  thought,"  she  muttered,  with  a  grunt 
of  satisfaction. 

Having  finished  her  leisurely  inspection  of  the 
cupboard,  during  which  she  smelled  of  the  bread 
to  see  if  it  was  sour,  broke  off  a  bit  of  the  cake 
to  see  if  it  was  extravagant,  and  sucked  some 
plum  sauce  from  the  ends  of  her  fingers,  she 
started  to  peer  under  the  bed  to  ascertain  if  there 
was  any  dust  there,  when,  hearing  a  noise,  sup 
posing  that  the  minister  had  come,  she  turned  and 
closed  the  closet  door,  and  reseated  herself,  wip 
ing  her  mouth  with  her  apron  as  she  did  so. 
This  change  of  posture  brought  her  into  full 
view  of  the  stairs  leading  to  the  loft  above,  which 
humble  place,  under  the  roof,  the  clergyman 
used  for  a  study  when  he  wished  to  be  very  much 
retired.  On  the  stairs,  descending  with  solemn 
step  and  slow,  was  Bub,  with  the  minister's  old 
hat  on,  which  he  kept  above  his  eyes  by  one 
chubby  hand,  and  the  minister's  steel-bowed 
glasses  resting  on  his  nose,  and  the  good  man's 
dressing-gown  trailing  magnificently  behind. 
Bub's  manner  showed  that  he  felt  his  conse 
quence  much  increased  by  his  clerical  outfit,  and 
10 


146  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

the  benignant  gravity  of  his  face  was  edifying  to 
behold. 

"  Goodness  gracious  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  lady ; 
"what  on  airth  you  up  to,  you  imp  o' Satan? 
Can't  you  berhave  in  the  minister's  house?  "  and, 
seizing  the  urchin  as  he  landed,  she  only  ceased 
shaking  him  as  the  spectacles  dropped  to  the 
floor. 

This  reception  was  wholly  unexpected  to  poor 
Bub,  and,  as  she  relieved  him  of  his  ministerial 
vestments,  he  sobbed  indignantly,  — 

"Now  Bub  go  wite  away,  and  never  come 
back  no  more ! "  and,  opening  the  door,  he 
marched  resolutely  out. 

The  elderly  caller  had  now  the  congenial  duty 
to  do  of  restoring  the  minister's  apparel  to  its 
proper  place  overhead ;  and,  glancing  out  of  the 
window,  to  be  sure  nobody  was  coming,  she 
ascended  to  the  missionary's  sanctum  sancto 
rum. 

Now,  Rev.  Mr.  Payson,  in  his  varied  pursuits 
of  preacher,  pastor,  house-carpenter,  stone-ma 
son,  farmer,  and  doctor,  —  for,  having  skill  in 
medicine,  the  sick  depended  somewhat  on  his 
medical  care,  —  he  was  quite  apt  to  leave  his  un 
inviting  study  in  disorder,  especially  when  sud 
denly  called  from  home.  Moreover,  like  the 
other  cabins  in  a  new  counhy,  the  house  was 
overrun  with  field  mice,  making  it,  as  Mr. 


OLD    MRS.    SKINFLINT    IN    TROUBLE.          147 

Payson  sometimes  said,  "dangerous  to  sleep  with 
one's  mouth  open,  lest  a  mouse  might  mistake  it 
for  his  hole,  and  pop  in."  Whether,  however, 
such  a  suffocating  casualty  would  occur  or  not, 
the  wee  animals  chased  each  other  along  the 
logs,  ransacked  the  closet,  scampered  across  the 
beds,  nibbling  at  everything  that  tempted  their 
sharp  little  teeth;  even  the  clergyman's  books 
and  papers  were  mutilated  by  them  most  irrev 
erently. 

The  sight  of  the  sheets  and  bits  of  writing 
paper,  the  news  journals,  and  old  reviews, — 
for  the  missionary,  unable  to  take  the  current 
publications,  read  and  re-read  the  old  ones  with 
a  mournful  satisfaction,  —  and  the  other  signs  of 
confusion  which  prevailed,  and  which  so  annoyed 
his  wife,  were  as  refreshing  to  Mrs.  Smith's  eyes 
as  the  first  glimpse  of  land  to  Columbus. 

"Zactly  as  I  expected,"  she  ejaculated,  lifting 
her  hands  in  horror.  "I  alluz  hearn  tell  that 
these  ere  lit'ry  women  are  a  shiftless  set.  I 
should  think  it  would  worry  a  man's  life  out  of 
his  body  to  be  jined  to  sich  a  hussy.  Why, 
there's  my  Betsy  Ann ;  she  ken  go  a  visitin' 
more  'n  half  the  time,  and  her  husband  never 
said  boo  agin  her  housework ;  an'  I've  known 
lots  o'  women  what  could  embroider,  an'  play  the 
piana,  an'  make  heaps  o'  calls,  an'  attind  balls 
an'  sich  till  enymost  mornin',  an'  they'd  no  more 


148  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

think  o'  wastin'  their  time  in  writin'  a  book  than 
cuttin'  their  heads  off'!  But  duzzn't  them  books 
look  pooty  on  them  shelves  ?  I  should  think  it 
would  make  the  minister's  head  split  if  he  knows 
all  that's  in  them  volums  ;  an'  they  do  say  he's 
ter'ble  larned.  Well,  I  mustn't  stay  here  no 
longer,  though  it's  jist  as  I  expected."  And,  return 
ing  to  the  room  below,  she  lifted  her  hands  again 
in  astonishment  as  she  saw  by  the  clock  that  it 
was  five.  "I  guess  John '11  have  to  git  his  own 
fodder  to-night,  or  go  without.  He's  used  to  it, 
though.  I  brings  my  man  up  not  to  expect  a 
woman  to  drudge,  drudge,  about  house.  But, 
mercy  me  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  where's  that  child 
gone  to?  I  warrant  he's  in  some  mischief;  "  and, 
opening  the  door,  she  called,  — 
"Bub,  Bub  !  come  inter  the  huss  !  " 
But  Bub  did  not  answer.  So  she  went  around 
the  cabin,  but  could  see  nothing  of  him,  and, 
thinking  that  he  would  not  come  because  it  was 
she  that  called  him,  she  added,  — 

"  Come  right  in  now  ;  Tom  wants  yer." 
There  was  only  a  slight  clearing  around  the 
cabin,  and  then  came  a  thick  growth  of  bushes, 
and  beyond,  the  woods  on  either  hand,  save  the 
path  in  the  direction  of  the  town.  It  was  but  a 
few  rods  to  the  nearest  house  in  the  village,  and 
she  hurried  there  to  make  inquiries,  for  she  was 
becoming  anxious  for  the  child.  But  the  chil- 


LOST    IN   THE    WOODS.  149 

dren,  playing  near  by,  said  that  Bub  had  not 
passed  that  way,  so,  running  back,  she  instituted 
a  new  search  in  the  vicinity  of  the  cabin,  calling 
him  as  before,  and  receiving  no  answer;  and,  as 
there  was  a  wide  cart  track  leading  into  the 
woods  from  the  cabin  door,  thinking  it  natural 
for  the  child  to  stray  that  way,  she  hastened  in 
that  direction. 

We  have  said  that  Mr.  Smith  had  his  virtues 
as  well  as  weaknesses ;  and,  of  course,  his  wife 
was  not  "  totally  depraved,"  in  the  sense  in 
which  that  much-controverted  term  is  not  in 
tended  by  those  who  hold  that  man  is  naturally 
sinful.  And,  as  she  had  borne  children,  a  moth 
erly  solicitude  was  now  awakened  in  her  heart 
for  Bub,  and  she  pressed  anxiously  down  the 
path,  wrhile  the  deepening  twilight  steadily  in 
creased  the  gloom  that  lingered  in  the  shadows 
of  the  lofty  trees.  The  cart  track  grew  less 
distinct  as  she  advanced ;  and,  as  she  had  not 
found  Bub,  she  concluded  to  return  and  alarm 
the  neighbors,  but  found  her  course  impeded  on 
every  side  by  the  thick  underbrush,  for  she  had 
lost  the  main  path.  With  desperate  efforts  she 
pushed  aside  the  strong-armed  boughs,  and 
struck  once  more  the  cart  track,  as  she  sup 
posed  ;  but,  alas  for  her,  she  was  mistaken.  Her 
head  had  become  bewildered,  and  she  was  pen 
etrating  into  the  depths  of  the  forest.  On,  on  she 


I5O  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

urged  her  steps,  wondering  that  she  did  not  come 
in  sight  of  the  minister's  cabin,  when,  to  her  de 
light,  she  heard  a  sound  like  the  crying  of  a 
child.  Now  a  heavy  load  was  lifted  from  her 
mind. 

"  I  must  be  nearing  the  cabin,"  thought  she ; 
"  and  that's  Bub  ;  "  and  she  called  with  unusual 
tenderness,  "  Bub,  Bub  !  Where  are  you?  " 

She  listened  intently,  expecting  a  response, 
and  heard  again  the  same  sound,  but,  strangely, 
farther  off.  So  she  quickened  her  speed,  calling 
the  boy  with  renewed  vigor.  Wearied  at  last  in 
her  fruitless  endeavors,  she  stopped  to  rest  a  mo 
ment,  and  collect  her  scattered  faculties.  She 
was  an  apt  calculator  in  money  matters,  and  that 
faculty,  summoned  into  exercise  now,  convinced 
her  that  she  had  passed  over  many  times  the  dis 
tance  needed,  had  she  been  going  in  the  right 
direction ;  and  the  horrible  conclusion  that  she 
was  lost  in  the  woods  thrilled  her  with  terror. 
She  recollected  also  that  there  had  been  stories 
told  of  late  of  a  panther's  voice  being  heard  in 
those  woods,  and  that  it  sounded  like  the  crying 
of  a  child.  This  increased  her  fear. 

While  she  was  considering  what  to  do  in  her 
extremity,  a  short,  quick  bark,  far  in  the  forest 
behind  her,  succeeded  by  a  prolonged  howl,  the 
bloodthirsty  cry  of  the  "timber  wolf,"  —  which, 
when  once  heard,  can  never  be  forgotten,  — broke 


LOST    IN    THE    WOODS. 

on  her  ear.  She  had  lived  too  long  in  the  wil 
derness  not  to  know  what  that  meant,  and  she 
fled  with  wondrous  swiftness  down  the  path,  on, 
on,  she  knew  not  whither.  Her  trembling  limbs 
began  to  fail ;  but  again  the  fiendish  wolf-cry  re 
sounded,  succeeded  by  that  of  another,  and  yet 
another,  —  showing  that  the  call  of  the  first  had 
brought  others  to  the  chase,  —  made  her  forget 
her  weakness,  and,  like  a  spirit,  away  she  sped, 
once  more,  on  the  race  for  life.  The  race,  how 
ever,  was  an  unequal  one,  and  its  fearful  termina 
tion  was  soon  staring  her  in  the  face,  as  she  heard 
the  ferocious  creatures  drawing  near ;  when,  to 
her  relief,  she  saw  ahead  a  small,  untenanted 
cabin.  It  was  a  shanty  used  by  the  woodsmen 
in  the  winter  while  felling  trees.  The  door  was 
off  its  hinges ;  and,  passing  swiftly  in,  in  the 
agony  of  despair,  she  glanced  around  for  a  hid 
ing-place.  But  the  room  was  equally  open  to 
the  wolves  as  to  herself.  Instantly,  in  a  manner 
that  seemed  almost  superhuman,  she  passed  up 
the  side  of  the  cabin  to  a  beam  laid  for  an  upper 
floor,  and  stood  there,  clinging,  with  her  bony 
fingers  to  the  wall,  as  motionless  as  a  marble 
statue,  while  the  wolves,  disappointed  of  their 
prey,  sat  on  the  floor  below,  lapping  their  hun 
gry  jaws,  and  watching  her  till  dawn,  where  she 
was  found  by  a  party  who  had  been  searching 
for  her  all  night.  She  was  speechless  when 


152  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

rescued,  and  utterly  unable  for  a  time  to  give  any 
account  of  herself.  Her  first  inquiry,  however, 
when  she  could  remember  what  had  happened, 
was  for  little  Bub. 

"I  guess,"  said  one  of  the  men,  soothingly, 
"  he  has  turned  up  all  right  afore  now." 

But  as  she  insisted  on  going  to  the  minister's 
to  ascertain  if  Bub  was  safe,  they  assisted  her 
there,  where  were  assembled  a  number  of  women, 
among  whom  was  Mrs.  Jones,  anxious  about  the 
lost  child,  for  no  trace  of  him  had  been  dis 
covered. 

When  Bub  was  so  unceremoniously  disrobed 
of  his  priestly  garments  by  Mrs.  Smith's  skinny 
hand,  highly  offended  at  so  gross  an  invasion  of 
his  rights  and  dignities,  to  console  himself  he 
determined  to  run  home  and  tell  his  mother  of  the 
outrage. 

Now  the  "make  of  the  land,"  back  of  the 
missionary's  cabin,  was  much  like  that  near  his 
father's,  and  therefore  he  took  his  way  in  that 
direction,  instead  of  the  one  Mrs.  Smith  had  sur 
mised.  He  had  taken  quite  a  walk  when  he  saw 
the  stream  that  divided  the  minister's  lot.  Re 
membering  that  there  was  a  river  back  of  his 
mother's  cabin,  he  concluded  that  his  home  was 
on  the  other  side  of 'the  stream  before  him.  The 
cornstalks,  too,  left  standing  in  the  cleared 
ground  opposite,  were  in  sight,  and  they  re- 


LOST    IN    THE    WOODS.  153 

sembled  the  corn  that  Tom  had  cut  and  stacked. 
So  he  trudged  up  and  down  the  bank  to  find  a 
way  to  cross,  till  he  came  to  a  tree  which  had 
been  felled  for  that  purpose,  and  constituted  the 
only  bridge,  the  topmost  boughs  of  which  rested 
on  the  other  side,  just  as  the  stream  was  bridged 
below  his  father's  cabin,  but  upon  which  he  had 
often  been  charged  not  to  venture.  Bub  had 
been  so  often  charged  on  this  point,  and  im 
pressed  with  the  danger,  that  he  did  not  forget 
it  now;  and,  while  he  amused  himself  with  drop 
ping  sticks  into  the  water,  and  watching  to  see 
them  carried  along  by  the  current,  he  called,  — 

"Mother,  come,  get  Bub,  if  you  don't  want 
him  drownded  up." 

And,  as  his  mother  did  not  make  her  appear 
ance,  he  shouted  for  Sarah,  till,  as  it  was  getting 
dusk,  he  felt  afraid  to  linger  longer,  and  mounted 
the  tree.  It  was  a  dizzy  height  above  the  water, 
and  Bub's  curly  pate  would  whirl  whenever  he 
glanced  below ;  so,  as  he  could  not  walk  steadily, 
he  sat  down,  and  tried  to  hitch  along  as  he  had 
seen  Sarah  do.  This  was  not  much  better  for 
him,  and  he  began  creeping  on  all  fours;  and, 
with  many  an  admonitory  slip,  which  served  to 
make  him  the  more  careful,  he  had  got  nearly 
across,  when  he  fell,  holding  his  breath  from 
fright.  Fortunately,  however,  he  had  reached 
the  lower  limbs,  and  the  friendly  branches  held 


154  THE    CABIN    O;N    THE    PRAIRIE. 

him  until  he  was  able  to  regain  the  trunk  of  the 
tree ;  and  ere  long  his  little  feet  pressed  terra 
Jirma. 

The  cultivated  ground  was  not  fenced  next  the 
river,  the  bank  being  sufficiently  steep  to  keep 
out  stray  cattle,  and  Bub  found  some  difficulty  in 
scaling  it ;  but  as  he  was  hungry  for  supper,  and 
had  something  of  a  will  of  his  own,  despite  his 
short  legs  and  frequent  tumbles,  at  last  he  suc 
ceeded.  And,  wandering  around  in  the  corn 
field,  vainly  seeking  his  mother's  cabin,  baffled 
in  his  efforts,  and  finding  that  crying  was  of  no 
avail,  tired,  frightened,  and  dispirited,  he  leaned 
his  head  against  a  clump  of  cornstalks,  and, 
falling  gently  from  the  support  to  the  soft  soil, 
he  dropped  asleep  as  the  darkness  came  on. 

But  where  was  Tom  ?  When  he  returned  from 
doing  the  errands,  he  was  surprised  at  not  find 
ing  either  Mrs.  Smith  or  Bub  at  the  minister's, 
and  was  standing  undecided  what  to  do,  when 
the  clergyman  drove  up.  Tom  immediately 
stated  his  perplexity. 

"  You  don't  suppose  the  woman  went  home, 
leaving  Bub  here  alone,  and  the  child  has 
strayed  away?"  suggested  Mrs.  Payson,  ap 
prehensively. 

"  I  scarcely  think  a  woman  of  her  age  would 
be  so  imprudent,"  replied  her  husband.  "  She 
may,  however,  have  gone  to  the  village,  and 


LOST   IN   THE    WOODS.  155 

taken  the  child  with  her  for  safe  keeping.  It 
would  be  well,  Tom,  to  go  down  and  see." 

Tom  was  hurrying  along,  when  a  lad  called 
out, — 

"  Did  the  old  woman  find  Bub  ?  "  and  he  related 
how  she  came  there  in  search  of  him.  This 
startled  Tom,  and,  hastening  back,  he  told  Mr. 
Payson  what  he  had  heard. 

"Perhaps,  then,"  said  the  minister,  "the  old 
lady  got  tired  of  waiting  for  me,  and  took  Bub 
home  with  her.  You  may  take  the  team  and 
ride  over  there." 

Finding  that  Mr.  Smith  had  not  seen  his  wife, 
Tom  at  once  concluded  that  there  must  be  some 
thing  seriously  wrong  ;  and  he  said,  — 

"  I  was  told  at  the  village  that  your  wife  was 
there,  trying  to  find  Bub.  It  may  be  they  are 
both  lost  in  the  woods.  Now,  if  you  will  get  the 
settlers  about  here  together,  I  will  rouse  the  vil 
lagers,  and  we  will  make  a  search." 

We  have  already  described  the  finding  of  the 
lost  woman. 

The  ground  on  the  side  of  the  river  next  to  the 
minister's  cabin  had  been  looked  over  repeatedly, 
and  no  one  seemed  to  think  it  possible  that  the 
child  had  crossed  the  river,  and  the  conclusion 
came  to  be  general  that  he  had  either  been  car 
ried  off  by  a  wild  beast,  or  fallen  into  the  water, 
and  been  drowned ;  and  preparations  were  made 


156  THE   CABIN  ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 

for  dragging  the  stream  for  the  body,  when  one 
of  the  party  saw  a  bit  of  cloth,  which  Tom 
recognized  as  torn  from  Bub's  dress,  flaunting 
from  a  twig  on  the  tree-bridge. 

"  He  must  be  on  the  other  side  !  "  cried  Tom  ; 
and,  with  new  hope,  the  party  rushed  to  explore 
the  field,  shouting  his  name. 

"  Here  I  be  ! "  answered  a  childish  voice  ;  and 
they  found  him  seated  on  the  ground,  composedly 
picking  the  kernels  from  an  ear  of  corn,  the 
channels  which  the  tears  had  ploughed  on  his 
unwashed  cheeks  being  the  only  evidence  of  the 
sorrows  through  which  he  had  passed ;  and  he 
said,  with  the  air  of  one  whose  feelings  had  been 
wounded  by  undeserved  neglect,  — 

"  I  hasn't  had  any  dinner." 

Some  theologians  tell  us  that  the  sinful  should 
never  be  addressed  through  their  fears ;  that 
love  can  only  reform  the  erring.  Perhaps  Mr.s. 
Smith  was  unlike  the  rest  of  the  race ;  but  the 
terrors  of  that  night  wrought  a  change  in  her ; 
and  Mr.  Pay  son  was  surprised  one  day  by  Mr. 
Smith's  calling  at  his  cabin  with  a  fine  quarter 
of  beef,  saying,  as  he  lugged  it  in,  — 

"I've  been  killing  an  ox,  elder;  and  wife 
thought,  if  you  wouldn't  be  offended,  that  I'd 
better  bring  you  down  a  piece ; "  adding,  as 
he  rose  to  go,  "Here's  that  due-bill  that  you 
gave  me  for  the  improvements  on  the  ten  acres. 


LOST    IN   THE   WOODS.  157 

Wife  says  you've  paid  enough  on  it ;  so  IVe  re 
ceipted  it,  and  will  call  it  square,  if  you  will. 
And,  by  the  way,  when  you  are  out  of  butter, 
just  send  over  to  our  house ;  we  can  spare  you 
a  few  pounds,  now  and  then,  just  as  well  as 
not." 


158  THE    CABIN   ON  THE   PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

FIRE     AND     FLOOD. 

THE  sum  which  had  been  pledged  by  the  set 
tlers  was  not  sufficient  for  the  support  of  the  mis 
sionary's  family ;  and  although  the  treasurer  ex 
erted  himself  to  the  utmost,  he  could  only  collect 
a  portion  of  what  was  due  from  those  whose 
names  were  on  the  subscription  paper.  No  one 
felt  the  inconvenience  of  this  more  than  the  cler 
gyman's  wife.  She  was  a  good  manager,*  and 
had  a  wonderful  faculty  for  making  "  one  dollar 
go  as  far  as  three,  and  getting  up  meals  out 
of  nothing,"  as  her  husband  often  remarked. 
But  it  must  be  confessed,  that  with  the  keen 
appetites  brought  to  them  on  the  wings  of  the 
prairie  winds,  the  little  household  sometimes 
rose  from  the  scantily-furnished  table  hungry 
for  more. 

Mr.  Pay  son,  under  these  circumstances,  would 
comfort  her  with  anticipations  of  future  abun 
dance.  They  knew,  indeed,  that  most  of  the  set 
tlers  had  newly  arrived,  and  had  everything  to 
buy,  as  they  had  not  been  long  enough  settled  to 


FIRE    AND    FLOOD.  159 

raise  anything  from  the  ground.  But  a  year  had 
now  elapsed,  and  many  acres  of  the  rich  soil  had 
been  turned  over  and  planted,  and  there  was 
prospect  of  abundant  returns.  The  missionary, 
being  unaccustomed  to  farming,  and  wishing  to 
devote  his  energies,  as  far  as  practicable,  to  the 
spiritual  interests  of  his  growing  charge,  had  let 
out  his  tillable  ten-acre  lot  to  a  neighbor,  to  be 
cultivated  on  shares,  reserving  a  little  spot  for 
himself,  which  he  had  planted  to  early  potatoes, 
and  a  good  variety  of  garden  vegetables.  As  the 
one  who  carried  on  the  rest  of  the  piece  was  an 
intelligent  and  experienced  farmer,  and  had  facil 
ities  for  the  work  in  the  way  of  teams  and  men, 
the  clergyman  felt  that  he  might  reasonably  cal 
culate  on  a  supply  of  corn  and  wheat,  to  which 
crops  the  ground  had  been  devoted.  And  no 
where  was  there  promise  of  a  larger  }deld  than 
on  that  quick  and  productive  river  bottom.  The 
corn  grew  to  a  prodigious  height,  crowded  with 
mammoth  ears,  and  the  wheat  emulated  the  corn  ; 
while  the  squash  and  pumpkin  vines  conducted 
as  if  on  a  race  to  see  which  would  beat  in  the 
number  and  size  of  their  fruit ;  and  Mr.  Payson's 
pet  sorghum  —  a  species  of  sugar-cane  —  shot 
up  to  a  marvellous  perfection.  It  is  true  that  a 
neighbor's  unruly  cattle  had  broken  into  the  en 
closure  a  number  of  times  ;  and  a  contrary  sow, 
with  her  lively  family  of  eleven,  had  also  made 


l6o  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

sundry  plundering  raids,  causing  the  minister 
considerable  trouble  in  driving  and  keeping  out 
the  intruders ;  but  he  had  already  a  fine  supply 
of  seasoned  oak  rails  under  way  for  perfecting 
the  fences ;  and  he  cheerily  said  to  his  wife,  — 

"  Another  year,  and  I'll  defy  the  unruliest  ani 
mals  in  the  settlement  to  steal  an  ear  of  corn  or  a 
potato  from  my  lot." 

Summer  had  now  faded  into  late  autumn, 
and  one  day  the  farmer,  who  had  charge  of 
the  field,  called  at  Mr.  Pay  son's,  looking  very 
dejected. 

"Elder,"  said  he,  "our  farming  this  year  is 
going  to  be  losing  business." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter?  "  asked  the  clergy 
man. 

"You  see,"  he  replied,  "most  of  the  settlers, 
like  myself,  came  from  a  warmer  climate  than 
this.  We  were  told  also  that  the  growing  season 
was  as  long  here  as  there,  and  brought  our 
choicest  seed  with  us.  But  there  is  not  time  for 
it  to  ripen ;  and  our  corn  will  not  do  to  grind,  nor 
will  it  keep,  it  is  so  green.  It  is  a  great  disap 
pointment  to  me ;  but  most  of  the  neighbors  are 
in  the  same  situation." 

Words  cannot  describe  what  sad  tidings  these 
were  to  the  missionary. 

"The  wheat  is  good  —  is  it  not?"  he  inquired. 


FIRE   AND   FLOOD.  l6l 

"  Yes ;  but  you  know  there  was  little  sown,  as 
the  ground  was  best  adapted  to  corn." 

So  it  turned  out  that  more  was  realized  from 
the  half  acre  cultivated  by  the  missionary,  not 
withstanding  the  old  farmer  laughed  at  his  city 
style  of  doing  things,  than  from  the  nine  and  a 
half  acres  besides.  And  the  year  of  plenty  had 
to  be  deferred  for  another  twelvemonth. 

That  eighty  acres !  —  how  much  comfort  the 
missionary  and  his  wife  took  in  the  thought  that 
it  was,  or  rather  soon  would  be,  theirs  !  How 
many  "times  they  admired  its  pleasant,  rolling  as 
pect,  and  weighed  its  prospective  value  !  And 
the  pretty  grove  near  the  cabin,  with  its  straight- 
growing  trees  —  what  cosy  walks  they  had  with 
the  children  in  its  leafy  shade  !  What  enjoyment 
in  noting  the  progress  made  in  clearing  out  the 
underbrush  and  trimming  the  trees  of  superfluous 
branches ! 

"If  the  place  was  only  paid  for,"  said  the  hus 
band  one  day,  "  I  should  be  glad.  Let  me  see. 
Eighty  acres,  at  one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents 
an  acre,  —  the  government  price,  —  would  be  one 
hundred  dollars.  I  think  I'll  act  upon  Mr. 
Jones's  suggestion,  and  sell  some  of  the  timber 
across  the  river,  and  pre-empt  immediately.  I 
have  been  offered  thirty  dollars  an  acre  for  the 
privilege  of  cutting  off  the  wood,  and,  at  that 
ii 


l62  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

rate,  three  and  a  half  acres  would  be  more  than 
enough." 

So  the  sale  was  effected,  and,  with  the  hun 
dred  dollars  in  his  pocket,  the  clergyman  started 
one  morning  on  horseback  for  the  Land  Office, 
thirty-seven  miles  distant.  A  horseback  ride 
across  a  Minnesota  prairie  is  highly  exhilarating, 
and  both  horse  and  rider  were  in  good  spirits. 
Seemingly  half  borne  on  by  a  sweeping  prairie 
wind,  Mr.  Payson  reached  his  destination  in 
some  five  hours,  in  season  for  an  early  tea ;  and 
the  next  morning  he  was  conducted  to  the  Land 
Office  by  a  lawyer  acquaintance,  and,  with  a 
witness  at  hand  to  prove  what  he  affirmed,  stated, 
under  oath,  that  he  had,  on  the  land  he  wished  to 
pre-empt,  a  cabin  and  other  improvements  to  the 
amount  that  the  law  required ;  and  then,  having 
paid  his  hundred  dollars,  he  started  towards 
home  with  a  light  heart. 

The  day  became  dark  and  cloudy;  and,  as 
there  was  only  a  faint  cart  track  across  the  prai 
ries,  the  minister  found,  in  the  course  of  the 
afternoon,  that  he  had  lost  his  way.  There  were 
no  cabins  at  which  he  could  retrieve  his  error, 
and,  after  many  vain  endeavors  to  find  the  track, 
he  let  his  horse  take  his  own  course ;  and,  carry 
ing  his  master  under  low-branched  trees  and 
through  thorny  thickets,  across  a  swamp,  he 
brought  him  out  at  last  by  a  much  shorter  route 


FIRE    AND    FLOOD.  163 

than  he  had  taken  in  going,  on  the  farther  bank 
of  the  river,  near  the  town. 

As  the  clergyman  neared  the  village,  he  no 
ticed  heavy  volumes  of  smoke  ascending.  Then 
he  saw  Mr.  Palmer  with  a  force  of  men  busilv 
engaged  in  checking  a  fire  that  was  careering 
through  the  bushes.  There  was  a  wall  of  flame 
between  him  and  them.  Striking  the  road,  he 
dashed  through  the  glowing  boundary  ;  and  Mr. 
Palmer,  beckoning  to  him,  said, — 

"We  have  rather  bad  news  to  tell  }rou,  though 
not  so  bad  as  it  might  have  been.  A  fire  com 
menced  near  your  place  yesterday  afternoon,  and 
came  near  burning  the  town." 

"  A  fire  there  !  "  ejaculated  the  minister.  "  How 
did  it  start?" 

"  I  cannot  stop  to  tell  you,"  said  his  bachelor 
friend;  "but  your  wife,  when  you  get  home, 
will  tell  you  all  about  it.  Had  it  not  been  for 
her,  we  should  have  been  swept  away." 

What  a  sight  met  the  clergyman's  eye  as  he 
came  into  the  town  !  The  entire  area,  before  so 
like  a  lawn,  looked  as  if  the  contents  of  a  large 
ink-pot  had  been  spread  over  it.  He  was  re 
lieved,  however,  to  see  that  his  cabin  and  the 
other  houses  were  still  standing ;  but  his  wife 
met  him  with  a  depressed  bearing  quite  in  con 
trast  to  her  usual  sprightly  manner.  It  so  struck 
to  his  heart  to  see  how  badly  she  felt,  that  —  al- 


164  THE    CABIN  ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 

though  his  glance  from  the  saddle  showed  that 
the  flames  had  not -spared  his  beloved  grove,  and 
had  consumed  the  rails,  of  which  he  had  been  so 
proud,  and  spoiled  many  a  promising  tree  — 
with  a  desperate  endeavor,  he  set  about  comfort 
ing  her. 

"O,  this  is  nothing,"  said  he  — "  nothing  at 
all !  Consider  what  it  would  have  been  had  the 
cabin  taken  fire,  and  you  and  the  children  been 
in  danger." 

"Which  would  have  been  the  case, "she  added, 
"had  not  our  quick-moving  town  owner,  Mr. 
Caswell,  come  to  the  rescue  with  his  usual  en 
ergy,  at  the  head  of  a  force  of  men  and  teams, 
bringing  with  them  hogsheads  of  water,  and 
pails,  with  which  to  throw  it  upon  the  fire.  You 
have  reason  to  thank  them  ;  for  they  worked  as  I 
never  saw  men  work  before." 

"  But  how  did  the  fire  commence  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Why,  you  see,"  said  she,  "after  you  left,  I 
said  to  the  children,  '  Father's  gone  to  the  Land 
Office  to  buy  the  land  ;  and  now  we'll  stir  around, 
and  see  how  nice  we  can  make  everything  look 
by  the  time  he  gets  back.'  Well,  you  know  how 
unsightly  the  chips  looked  around  the  house,  and 
which  you  had  not  had  time  to  remove.  So  we 
went  to  work  raking  them  up  into  little  heaps. 
While  we  were  thus  employed,  we  heard  the  re 
port  of  a  gun  in  the  bushes  near  by.  The  morn- 


FIRE    AND    FLOOD.  165 

ing,  you  recollect,  was  quite  calm ;  but  just  as 
the  gun  was  fired,  a  gust  of  wind  swept  over  the 
place,  carrying  with  it  some  burning  wadding 
that  alighted  in  a  dry  log  some  rods  away. 
Before  I  could  get  there,  the  inflammable  wood 
was  afire,  and  from  that  other  sparks  had  been 
borne  on,  and  at  once  had  kindled  flames  in  a 
number  of  different  places.  Seeing  that  it  was 
impossible  to  arrest  the  progress  of  the  conflagra 
tion,  I  sent  Helen  to  the  nearest  neighbor's  to 
give  the  alarm,  and,  as  I  have  already  said,  by 
the  help  of  those  that  came,  our  cabin  was  barely 
saved,  and  the  neighbors  had  to  fight  hard  to 
preserve  their  own  dwellings." 

Each  day  after  that  the  missionary  would  walk 
about  his  blackened  domain,  pondering  the  un 
certainty  of  all  sublunary  things,  about  which  he 
had  so  often  preached,  his  wife  scrutinizing  his 
disconsolate  face  the  while,  and  he  repeating, 
with  an  emphasis  that  showed  he  was  saying  it 
for  his  own  benefit  as  much  as  hers,  — 

"O,  it's  nothing  at  all  —  nothing  at  all ;  and  as 
for  those  few  rails," —  as  he  kicked  over  the  burnt 
fragments  with  a  melancholy  look,  —  "they're 
not  of  much  account,  for  the  piece  over  the  river 
is  pretty  well  fenced,  after  all ;  luckily,  the  fires 
didn't  touch  them,  and  we  have  them  safe  for 
another  year." 

One  afternoon,  a  few  days  later,  as  Mr.  Pay- 


1 66  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

son  was  in  his  attic  study  absorbed,  an  unwonted 
darkness  fell  upon  the  page  before  him ;  then  a 
heavy  peal  of  thunder  succeeded.  It  was  one 
long,  continuous  roll,  for  an  hour  or  more,  with 
out  pause,  and  the  rain  poured  down  as  he  never 
saw  it  in  any  shower  east ;  it  seemed  as  if  the 
heavy  clouds  were  literally  emptying  their  con 
tents  upon  prairie  and  forest,  while  flash  followed 
flash  of  vivid  lightning.  Throughout  the  whole 
night  it  rained,  and  the  next  day,  and  the  next ; 
and,  were  it  not  for  the  ancient  promise,  one 
might  have  thought  that  a  second  flood  was  to 
sweep  the  inhabitants  of  the  world  away.  About 
midnight  of  the  third  day  of  the  terrible  storm, 
the  family  at  the  missionary's  cabin  were  awa 
kened  by  wild  shoutings  in  the  village  below. 

"What  do  you  suppose  is  the  matter?"  asked 
Mrs.  Payson. 

"  Nothing  serious,  I  think,"  said  her  husband. 
"  As  the  town  site  is  rolling  and  descends  towards 
the  river,  it  is  probable  that  the  high  water  has 
come  up  into  some  of  the  yards  and  gardens,  and 
perhaps  has  invaded  some  of  the  settlers'  pig-pens 
and  hen-coops,  and  the  neighbors  are  working  in 
the  rain  and  darkness  to  save  their  live  stock." 

The  sun  came  out  next  morning  like  "  a  bride 
groom  from  out  his  chamber,  rejoicing  as  a  strong 
man  to  run  his  race,"  flooding  the  fields  with 
light,  as  the  clouds  had  flooded  them  with  water, 


FIRE   AND   FLOOD.  167 

revealing  the  destruction  which  the  tempest  had 
caused.  It  appeared  that  the  river,  a  short  dis 
tance  up  stream  from  the  town,  had  become  ob 
structed  by  dead  trees,  and  brush,  and  loosened 
soil,  until  a  heavy  body  of  water  had  accumu 
lated,  when,  the  impediment  suddenly  giving 
way,  the  water  rushed  with  tremendous  power, 
inundating  a  wide  extent  of  ground,  and  sweep 
ing  away  everything  movable  in  its  path.  Many 
cabins  were  flooded,  sleepers  being  awakened  by 
the  water  dashing  against  their  beds,  while  arti 
cles  of  furniture  were  floating  about  in  the  room. 
It  was  this  that  caused  the  outcries  that  Mr.  Pay- 
son  had  heard. 

The  Jones's  cabin  had  been  well  chosen  for 
safety  on  ordinary  occasions ;  but,  on  the  night 
in  question,  Tom  was  awakened  by  something 
cold  touching  his  hand  ;  for,  in  throwing  it  out  of 
bed  in  his  sleep,  it  had  been  immersed  in  the 
water,  which  had  entered  the  room,  and  was  rap 
idly  rising.  Shouting  to  his  mother  and  the  chil 
dren,  he  struck  a  light,  and  leaped  into  the 
water ;  and,  taking  Bub  in  his  arms,  and  direct 
ing  the  movements  of  the  rest,  he  hurried  them 
out  of  the  door,  away  from  the  river  bank,  as  fast 
as  they  could  go.  How  providential  it  was  that 
he  should  have,  in  his  restlessness,  dropped  his 
hand  over  the  bedside  !  for  scarcely  had  they  as 
cended  a  swell  of  ground  beyond  the  field  when 


l68  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

the  cabin  went  down  with  a  crash,  and  the  frag 
ments,  whirling  about  and  jarring  together,  dis 
appeared  from  view. 

They  were  now  poorer  than  ever ;  but,  cold 
and  wet,  with  the  lightning  flashing  about  them, 
in  the  pouring  rain,  they  clung  together  for  mu 
tual  protection,  while  they  took  their  toilsome  and 
difficult  way  from  the  scene  of  danger. 

There  was  an  unoccupied  shanty  in  the  edge 
of  the  town  farthest  from  the  river,  and  to  that 
Tom  led  the  terrified  and  shivering  group.  It 
was  three  full  hours  before  they  reached  it ;  and 
then  they  had  nothing  but  the  bare  walls  and 
the  bare  floor,  with  the  shelter  over  their  heads, 
for  a  resting-place,  where,  the  next  day,  the  mis 
sionary  found  them  as  he  went  about  assisting 
to  succor  the  sufferers;  and,  at  his  suggestion, 
from  the  scanty  stores  of  the  settlers  about, 
their  cabin  was  fitted  out  with  eatables  and 
housekeeping  articles. 

During  all  this  time  Mr.  Payson  had  been  so 
occupied  in  benevolent  labor  among  those  whose 
cabins  had  been  flooded,  that  it  had  not  occurred 
to  him  that  he  had  sustained  any  damage ;  but, 
after  the  subsiding  of  the  waters,  as  he  took  his 
way  down  his  favorite  path  through  the  grove, 
he  saw  that  the  waters  had  borne  away  every 
vestige  of  fencing  around  his  cherished  ten- 
acre  lot.  The  highest  part  of  the  fence  had 


FIRE    AND    FLOOD.  169 

been  under  water  many  feet  on  that  calamitous 
night,  and  with  the  loss  of  the  rails  had  gone 
down  another  of  the  earthly  props  on  which 
he  had  leaned  for  his  daily  bread  in  the  wil 
derness. 


I7O  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE, 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    INDIAN    LODGE. 

SPRING  on  a  north-western  prairie.  What  a 
glorious  scene !  Suddenly,  you  scarcely  know 
when,  the  snow  has  disappeared,  leaving  the 
long,  dead  grass  lying  in  matted  unsightliness, 
and  you  would  think  it  was  dead  forever ;  but 
soon,  in  little  clusters  of  from  three  to  seven, 
you  see  dotting  the  landscape  a  purple  flower,  a 
tough,  membranous,  hairy  sheath  protecting  each 
floweret  from  the  chilling  winds,  for  it  opens  at 
once  to  your  gaze.  Then,  as  the  weather  waxes 
genial,  the  blossoms  shoot  up  from  their  hirsute 
guardianship,  and  nod  brightly  in  the  breeze. 
It  is  the  "spring  beauty,"  —  as  the  frontier  folk 
call  it,  —  the  first  vegetation  of  the  season,  pre 
senting  the  phenomenon  of  rich  blooming  flow 
ers,  while  yet  the  lifeless  turf  shows  no  signs  of 
vitality.  But  life  is  there ;  for  at  once,  as  if  by 
magic,  the  whole  expanse  is  green  with  verdure, 
growing  with  marvellous  rapidity,  decked  with 
flowers. 

"  Garden  without  path  or  fence, 
Rolling  up  its  billowy  blooms." 


*  THE    INDIAN    LODGE.  I>JI 

Then  you  rise  some  soft  morning,  and  the  air 
is  vocal  with  the  cooing  of  myriad  birds.  If  you 
are  just  from  the  east,  you  will  think  that  thou 
sands  of  turtle  doves  are  announcing  that  spring 
has  come.  They  seem  close  about  you  ;  but  you 
cannot  see  them.  They  are  not  in  the  groves 
near  by  ;  you  follow  the  sounds  through  the  wav 
ing  prairie  grass  for  a  long  distance,  and  you 
find  them  not,  and  will  be  surprised  when  your 
western  friend  tells  you  that  these  are  the  voices 
of  the  prairie  hens,  miles  away,  holding  their 
annual  convention,  the  queer  cuckooing  not  be 
ing  loving  sounds,  but  notes  of  war  —  abortive 
attempts  at  crowing,  which  the  rival  males  set 
up  as  they  prepare  to  do  battle  with  each  other. 

And  now  from  the  blue  expanse  overhead 
come  down  the  varied  cries  of  the  migratory 
birds  returning  from  the  south.  Line  upon  line 
of  wild  geese,  in  military  order,  follow  their 
leader,  while  the  trumpet  blasts  of  the  sand-hill 
cranes  —  the  ostrich  of  the  American  prairie  — 
ring  out  clear  and  shrill,  and  their  long  white 
bills  glisten  in  the  sunlight  from  afar,  like  bris 
tling  bayonets  of  ivory. 

Tom  stood  in  front  of  the  hotel,  enjoying  the 
spring  sights  and  sounds  with  unusual  zest.  The 
two  winters  now  past  had  been  eventful  to  him. 
Mr.  Payson,  the  missionary,  who  had  taken  a 
great  interest  in  Tom,  had,  the  winter  before, 


172  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE.          ^ 

kept  school  in  his  own  cabin ;  and  Tom  and  his 
sister  Eliza  had  attended  much  of  the  time,  their 
tuition  being  paid  by  such  assistance  as  Tom 
might  be  able  to  render  Mr.  Payson  in  his  out 
door  work. 

Eliza  had  grown  to  be  a  sedate  and  interesting 
young  woman,  and  was  making  good  headway 
with  her  studies,  when  one  day  she  gave  notice 
that  she  should  not  be  able  to  attend  school  any 
longer  ;  and  to  her  teacher's  inquiries  she  returned 
only  blushes  in  reply,  and  he  could  get  no  further 
light  until  the  next  day,  when  an  enterprising 
young  man  from  a  "  neighboring  village,"  twenty 
miles  distant,  called  to  invite  Mr.  Payson  to  join 
himself  and  "  Miss  Eliza  "  in  marriage. 

The  last  winter  the  missionary's  family  had 
occupied  rooms  at  the  hotel.  Mrs.  Payson  had 
been  growingly  unhappy  from  dread  of  the  In 
dians,  and  often  said  to  her  husband, — 

"  Our  lot  is  just  such  a  place  as  they  would  be 
likely  to  come  to  first." 

Mr.  Payson  did  not  share  this  fear;  but,  on 
account  of  her  feelings,  the  generous-hearted 
landlord  offered  them  rooms  for  the  winter  rent 
free. 

The  winter  had  gone  by  without  any  adverse 
occurrence.  Tom  had  been  prospering  in  his 
studies  under  the  missionary's  direction,  work 
ing  for  his  board  in  the  family  of  one  of  the  town 


THE    INDIAN    LODGE.  173 

owners,  just  opposite  the  hotel ;  so  it  was  but  a 
step  for  him  to  the  missionary's  when  he  wished 
to  recite. 

"Will  you  be  able  to  hear  my  recitation  this 
afternoon?"  asked  Tom,  as  Mr.  Payson  came 
down  the  hotel  steps. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  missionary.  "I  am  called 
away  this  morning,  but  I  think  I  shall  get  back 
in  season." 

That  afternoon,  as  Tom  sat  in  the  missionary's 
front  room,  absorbed  in  a  book,  the  furious  bark 
ing  of  a  dog  disturbed  him.  He  glanced  out  of 
the  window,  and  saw,  to  his  surprise,  an  Indian. 
The  savage  had  turned,  facing  the  hotel,  rifle  in 
his  hand,  and,  with  flashing  eyes,  was  driving 
back  a  large  mastiff  that  had  attacked  him.  Tom 
was  struck  with  the  singular  intelligence  and 
beauty  of  the  young  savage.  He  was  a  shade 
lighter  than  most  of  his  race,  had  large,  dark, 
expressive  eyes,  regular  and  finely-cut  features, 
a  symmetric  form,  and  his  luxuriant  black  hair, 
which  was  of  great  length,  was  dressed  with 
most  elaborate  care,  and  the  ornaments  that  he 
wore  about  his  person,  and  his  blanket,  were 
better  than  those  usually  worn  by  Indians. 

From  the  Indian's  manner,  Tom  concluded 
that  he  suspected  the  dog  was  set  upon  him  by 
some  white  person.  The  bearing  of  the  red  man 
was  lofty,  collected,  and  defiant.  In  an  instant 


174  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

Tom  sprang  down  the  front  stairs,  and  called  the 
dog  off.  The  Indian,  glancing  at  the  lad,  went 
stolidly  on  his  way,  up  the  mam  street,  through 
the  village,  till  he  was  hidden  from  view  by  the 
trees  on  the  missionary's  land. 

Mrs.  Payson  and  her  children  stood  at  the 
window,  watching  the  retreating  figure  of  the 
Indian  with  mingled  fear  and  admiration. 

"  Isn't  he  handsome  ?  "  exclaimed  the  elder  of 
the  little  girls. 

w  He  certainly  is  very  intelligent  looking,"  re 
marked  her  mother;  "a  noble  specimen  of  the 
red  man." 

"Did  you  see  that  Indian?"  inquired  the  land 
lady,  a  calm,  dignified  woman,  as  she  stepped 
into  the  room.  "One  of  the  boarders  says  there 
is  quite  a  company  of  them  encamped  on  your 
husband's  land.  They  have  a  large  wigwam, 
and  seem  to  be  making  themselves  as  much  at 
home  as  if  they  owned  the  place." 

The  missionary's  wife  shuddered,  and  re 
marked,  — 

"It  is  just  as  I  foreboded." 

"  But  these  are  friendly,"  returned  the  land 
lady.  "The  chief  has  a  letter  from  the  gov 
ernment  agent,  recommending  him  to  the  con 
fidence  and  charity  of  the  settlers.  It  has  been 
a  long  and  hard  winter,  and  the  agent  says  there 
has  been  much  suffering  among  the  Indians." 


THE    INDIAN    LODGE.  175 

"  Is  that  young  Indian  the  chief  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Pay  son. 

"  No  ;  I  wish  he  were.  He  is  the  finest-look 
ing  savage  I  ever  saw.  I  don't  think  I  should  be 
afraid  to  trust  him.  But  the  chief  looks  fright 
fully  ;  he  is  as  cruel  and  treacherous  as  a  snake, 
or  I  do  not  read  his  face  aright." 

"  Then  you  have  seen  him  ?  "  said  the  other,  in 
surprise. 

"  Yes ;  I  was  riding  through  the  woods  with 
husband,  and  we  met  him.  The  young  Indian 
seems  to  belong  to  the  company,  and  yet  holds 
himself  somewhat  aloof  from  the  others,  as  if  he 
feels  conscious  of  being  superior  to  them,  and 
finds  it  difficult  to  fellowship  their  low  ways. 
To-morrow  a  party  of  us  are  going  to  call  on  the 
Indians  at  their  wigwam,  and  I  stepped  in  to  in 
vite  you  to  go.  There  will  be  a  good  many  of 
us  ;  so  you  needn't  fear  being  tomahawked  !  "  she 
added,  laughing. 

The  visit  to  the  Indians  the  next  day  was  full 
of  interest  to  the  missionary's  family,  for,  although 
they  had  seen  numbers  of  the  half-civilized  In 
dians  of  the  Eastern  States,  they  had  never  before 
seen  the  red  man  in  his  native  wilds,  with  habits 
and  customs  unchanged  from  their  primitive 
character.  The  wigwam  was  large  and  well 
constructed,  erected  in  a  sheltered  and  romantic 
spot,  convenient  at  once  to  the  village,  the  woods, 


176  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

and  the  river.  Within  were  squatted  four  or 
five  of  the  company  on  the  ground,  playing  a 
game  of  chance,  in  which  employment  the  Indian 
men  spend  most  of  their  time,  when  not  hunting, 
fishing,  or  at  war.  There  were  no  women  with 
them,  and  therefore  the  men  had,  besides  the  cook 
ing,  to  do  the  drudgery  usually  assigned  to  the 
squaws,  such  as  gathering  and  bringing  in  the 
wood,  and  dressing  the  skins  of  the  wild  an 
imals. 

The  Indians  did  not  lift  their  eyes  as  the 
whites  entered  through  the  narrow  opening  which 
served  as  door,  and  ranged  themselves  around 
the  sides  of  the  lodge  as  best  they  might.  Nor 
did  they  answer  any  questions,  not  appearing 
to  understand  a  word  of  English,  their  faces 
remaining  as  stolid  under  the  remarks  of  the 
whites  as  if  nothing  had  been  said ;  and  taking 
it  for  granted  that  the  Indians  were  as  ignorant 
of  civilized  speech  as  they  appeared,  some  of 
the  inquisitive  pale-faces  indulged  themselves  in 
quite  uncivilized  speeches,  for  they  had  a  tra 
ditional  contempt  and  hatred  of  their  tawny 
brothers. 

"  You  had  better  not  express  yourself  quite  so 
freely,"  said  Mr.  Caswell,  the  landlord,  aside  to 
a  settler;  "these  fellows  understand  every  word 
you  say,  and  it's  better  to  have  the  good  will 
than  the  ill  will  of  a  dog,  as  the  old  saying  is." 


THE   INDIAN   LODGE.  1 77 

Curious,  however,  to  see  what  the  effect  would 
be,  those  who  disliked  the  Indians  the  most  made 
them  presents  with  the  rest.  Tobacco,  skeins 
of  cotton,  brass  buttons,  cakes,  crackers,  cents, 
sticks  of  candy,  bits  of  ribbon,  were  received  by 
the  Indians  without  a  word  or  nod  of  acknowl 
edgment.  No  sign  of  consciousness  of  visitor 
or  presents  was  evinced,  save  that  a  grimy 
hand  would  deftly  clutch  the  article  tossed  within 
its  reach,  and  convey  it  to  the  head,  quickly  and 
ingeniously  twisting  it  in  the  hair,  the  game  pro 
ceeding  the  while,  without  a  pause.  The  young 
Indian  played  with  his  companions ;  and  from 
his  beauty  and  princely  bearing  drew  much  at 
tention  and  a  large  share  of  the  gifts  to  himself; 
yet  even  in  receiving  the  presents  he  seemed 
different  from  the  other  savages.  His  was  the 
only  face  in  the  swarthy  group  that  betrayed 
"  the  workings  of  the  soul ; "  and  although  he 
fastened  the  trinkets  in  his  raven  locks,  drops 
of  sweat  stood  on  his  brow,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
it  cost  him  a  struggle  to  be  treated  as  an  object 
of  charity. 

Tom,  with  the  others,  was  much  struck  with 
the  appearance  of  the  young  Indian,  and  made 
a  number  of  unsuccessful  attempts  to  converse 
with  him.  Finding  that  the  "confusion  of 
tongues,"  or  some  other  barrier,  had  made  talk- 

12 


178  THE    CABIN   ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

ing  together  impossible,  in  various  ingenious 
ways  he  tried  to  direct  the  Indian's  attention  to 
himself,  but  without  avail ;  game  succeeded 
game  in  Indian  silence,  the  talking  and  advan 
cing  towards  acquaintanceship  remaining  wholly 
on  the  side  of  the  whites. 

"  How  many  belong  to  this  company  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Payson  of  the  landlord. 

"  There  are  nine  of  them :  the  rest  are  out 
hunting,  I  suppose,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  do  all  these-  chaps  manage  to  sleep  in 
this  little  hut?"  asked  a  settler. 

"  A  nice  time  they  must  have  of  it  on  the 
ground,  especially  when  it  rains,"  added  another, 
pointing  up  through  the  roof,  which  was  open, 
to  let  out  the  smoke. 

"  But,"  said  the  missionary,  "  everything  is  in 
remarkable  order  here.  Don't  you  see  that  each 
man  has  his  place,  and  on  the  side  of  the  lodge 
a  snug  chance  to  stow  away  or  hang  up  his  per 
sonal  effects.  We  whites  could  scarcely  arrange 
the  little  space  with  more  fairness  and  mathe 
matical  precision,  so  as  to  make  the  most  of  the 
room." 

It  was  indeed  so;  and  much  did  the  callers 
marvel  at  the  intelligent  system  that  prevailed. 

"  Some  one  has  had  a  hand  in  the  ordering 
of  affairs  here,  who  has  more  intellect  than  we 
are  accustomed  to  attribute  to  the  red  man ; "  and 


THE    INDIAN    LODGE.  179 

the  minister  glanced  at  the  young  Indian,  as  if 
to  say,  "  It  must  be  due  to  him." 

But  twilight  was  falling,  and  the  villagers 
started  on  their  way  home.  Scarcely,  however, 
had  they  passed  the  hedge  of  elders  and  the 
rows  of  young  oaks  that  hid  the  abode  of  the 
Indians  from  view,  when  from  within  the  wig 
wam  there  went  up  a  startling  whoop  and  yell, 
mingled  with  derisive  laughter. 

Mrs.  Payson  stood  still,  pale  with  terror,  as  if 
expecting  to  see  the  savages  rush  out  to  massacre 
them.  But  they  kept  within  their  tent,  their 
horrible  whoopings  and  mockings  continuing 
until  the  whites  were  well  away. 

"  I  do  not  like  the  sound  of  those  yells,"  said 
the  missionary,  soberly. 

"  O,  the  Indians  are  only  amusing  themselves 
by  trying  to  scare  the  women  and  children,"  re 
plied  Mr.  Caswell,  merrily. 

"  There  is  more  than  that  intended,"  returned 
the  minister.  "  There  was  the  bitterest  irony  and 
hatred  expressed  in  those  tones.  If  the  authors 
of  them  dared,  or  it  was  in  their  plan  to  do  so 
now,  they  would  spring  upon  us  with  the  eager 
ness  of  so  many  beasts  of  prey." 

The  next  day  eight  of  the  Indians  walked  into 
the  village,  one  after  the  other,  as  is  the  Indian 
way,  and  called  at  the  hotel  to  beg.  They  had 
found  their  tongues  over  night,  and  could  man- 


l8o  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

age,  not  only  to  understand,  when  it  was  for 
their  interest,  what  was  said  to  them,  but  in 
broken  English  make  reply.  They  were  a  fine 
set  of  men,  physically  —  tall,  broad-chested, 
erect ;  and,  wrapped  in  their  white  and  red  blan 
kets,  they  made  a  formidable  appearance.  There 
was  no  touch  of  fawning  or  crouching  in  their 
manner.  They  demanded  the  articles  given  them, 
rather  than  begged.  You  would  have  thought 
them  lords  of  the  soil,  come  to  collect  rent  of 
tardy  tenantry. 

The  young  Indian,  however,  still  preserved 
his  individuality,  and  various  romantic  conjectures 
were  conjured  up  in  imaginative  heads  concern 
ing  him.  Some  went  so  far  as  to  assert  that  he 
had  no  Indian  blood  in  him,  and  started  the 
theory  that  he  must  have  had  white  parentage, 
and  that  he  might  have  been  stolen,  when  a 
child,  from  some  noble  white  family.  But  the 
more  experienced  of  the  pioneers  set  that  at  rest 
by  affirming  that  they  could  tell  the  pure,  un 
mixed  Indian,  and  that  he  was  one. 

Tom  lingered  much  about  him. 

"  O,"  said  he  to  the  missionary,  "if  I  could 
only  talk  with  him,  how  I  would  love  to  teach 
him  how  to  read,  and  speak  to  him  of  the  blessed 
things  in  the  Bible  !  " 

"  That  is  on  my  mind  most  of  the  time,  Tom," 
replied  the  good  man.  "  I  am  often  asking  my- 


THE    INDIAN   LODGE.  l8l 

self.  Can  I  not,  in  gome  way,  lead  these  be 
nighted  souls  to  the  Lamb  of  God?  But  how 
inaccessible  they  are  !  What  an  impassable  bar 
rier  between  them  and  us  !  and,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  the  youngest  of  them,  how  brutal 
and  low !  To  see  such  splendidly-formed  men 
spend  their  time  squatted  on  the  earth,  playing 
jack-straws,  or  some  equally  silly  game,  from 
morning  to  night,  is  pitiful.  And  then  their 
yelling  and  laughter  are  more  like  wild  beasts 
or  demons  than  human  beings.  These  people 
seem  to  me  the  lowest,  meanest,  most  treacher 
ous,  and  hardened  of  the  human  race.  I  do  not 
wonder  that  it  is  so  difficult  to  civilize  or  Chris 
tianize  them." 

Weeks  went  by,  and  the  Indians  remained  in 
their  lodge,  daily  growing  bolder  and  more  in 
trusive,  till  they  had  become  obnoxious  to  the 
most  benevolent  of  the  settlers.  It  had  come  to 
be  not  over  pleasant  to  the  women  of  the  neigh 
borhood  to  look  up  from  their  domestic  duties, 
and  see  that  a  grim  savage  had  stolen  into  the 
house,  and,  unasked,  seated  himself  in  a  chair, 
ready,  as  soon  as  he  thought  best,  to  nod,  in  a 
dictatorial  way,  towards  some  coveted  article,  in 
a  manner  which  meant,  — 

"  Hand  that  to  me  !  " 

Meanwhile  Tom  and  the  young  Indian  —  who, 
whether  that  was  his  real  Indian  name  or  not, 


1 82  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

was  called  Long  Hair —  had  become  quite  in 
timate.  Nevertheless,  not  many  words  passed 
between  them,  for  Long  Hair  was  more  reticent, 
if  possible,  than  the  rest  of  his  company.  But 
without  word-signs  they  managed  to  understand 
each  other.  Long  Hair,  indeed,  appeared  to 
read  Tom's  thoughts  intuitively,  and  Mrs.  Pay- 
son  was  often  made  anxious  for  Tom,  because 
he  would  be  gone  so  long  in  the  woods  with 
Long  Hair.  The  latter  had  selected  a  tree  for  a 
canoe,  and  Tom,  with  his  sharp-edged  axe,  cut 
it  down  for  him,  and  helped  him  dig  it  out  and 
shape  it.  A  strange  sympathy  had  grown  up 
between  them,  and  one  evening,  as  Tom  was  on 
his  way  to  the  prayer-meeting,  chancing  to  meet 
Long  Hair,  he  invited  the  latter  to  accompany 
him,  trying,  with  great  earnestness,  to  make  him 
comprehend  the  object  of  the  gathering.  Long 
Hair  seemed  to  gain  a  dim  perception  of  what 
his  friend  meant,  and,  after  much  persuasion, 
entered  with  Tom  the  cabin  in  which  the  meeting 
was  to  be  held.  The  Indian's  face  gave  evi 
dence  of  great  excitement  as  the  service's  pro 
gressed  ;  the  deep  solemnity  of  the  prayers,  and 
the  devout  strains  of  Christian  song,  took  power 
ful  hold  of  the  red  man's  feelings.  Doubtless  he 
understood  little  of  the  scene  in  which,  for  the 
first  time,  he  mingled;  but  a  potent  influence 
went  along  with  it,  and  so  affected  was  he,  that 


THE    INDIAN    LODGE.  183 

his  hand  sought  Tom's,  and  he  held  it  in  a 
strong,  tender  grasp  till  the  meeting  closed,  his 
frame  trembling  with  emotion.  And  yet  Tom 
could  not  converse  with  him  afterwards ;  and 
what  the  nature  of  the  emotion  was  that  shook 
him  so,  —  what  thoughts  were  stirred,  and  with 
what  result  for  eternity  in  the  bosom  of  that  silent 
son  of  the  prairie,  who,  for  the  first  time,  had 
attended  Christian  worship,  —  no  one  knew. 
Tom  could  not  induce  him  to  attend  again,  and 
yet  he  did  not  seem  offended  at  what  he  had 
heard ;  but  when  his  white  friend  alluded  to  it, 
his  eye  gleamed  with  a  new  light,  and  his  face 
looked  thoughtfully,  doubtfully  serious. 

Nearly  every  day  Tom  and  Long  Hair  were 
together,  the  latter  keeping  but  little  in  the  wig 
wam,  and  seldom  going  with  the  other  Indians. 
When  they  filed  into  town,  and  besieged  the 
houses,  trying  the  doors,  peeping  into  the  win 
dows,  accosting  the  street-passers,  Long  Hair 
was  not  with  them ;  and  when  at  evening  they 
returned  exultant  from  a  successful  hunt,  sing 
ing  their  strong-lunged  song  of  triumph,  —  their 
wild  and  scarcely  human  "  Hi  yar  I  hi  yar ! " 
growing  nearer,  till,  entering  the  village,  they 
sang  their  way  through  to  their  lodge,  Long  Hair 
was  not  of  their  number. 

One  day  Tom,  chancing  to  visit  the  wigwam, 
found  Long  Hair  there,  shivering  with  a  violent 


184  THE    CABIN   ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

attack  of  ague.  He  was  alone,  and  had  been 
for  two  days. 

How  bare  and  cheerless  appeared  the  Indian's 
life  to  Tom's  sympathetic  nature  then !  for  an 
Indian,  when  sick,  has  few  comforts.  Solitary 
he  sits  wrapped  in  his  blanket,  or  lies  on  the 
ground,  with  no  one  to  nurse  or  care  for  him  ;  no 
nice  dishes  to  tempt  his  feeble  appetite,  no  hand 
to  bathe  his  fevered  brow,  no  medicines  to  as 
suage  his  pain  or  drive  disease  away. 

"Why,  Long  Hair,"  cried  Tom,  "why  didn't 
you  let  me  know  that  you  were  sick  ?  " 

But  Long  Hair  sat  shaking  in  his  blanket,  and, 
as  usual,  heard,  but  made  no  answer,  only  with 
his  expressive  eyes. 

Tom  brought  in  wood,  and  started  the  fire,  and 
saying,  "  Mother  '11  know  just  what  to  do  for  you, 
Long  Hair  5  I'll  go  and  tell  her  how  you  are,"  he 
ran  to  his  mother's  cabin,  and,  quickly  making 
some  nourishing  gruel,  and  putting  up  a  store  of 
simples  that  she  used  in  fever  and  ague,  she  re 
turned  with  Tom  to  the  lodge.  What  a  treasure  is  a 
loving,  experienced  woman  in  sickness,  whether 
in  a  palace,  a  log  house,  or  beneath  the  rude 
shelter  of  an  Indian's  moving  home  —  ever  gen 
tle,  exhaustless  in  resources,  untiring  in  her  min 
istrations  !  It  seemed  a  marvel  to  Tom  how  read 
ily  his  mother  knew  just  what  to  do  for  Long 
Hair,  intuitively  adapting  herself  to  his  Indian 


THE    INDIAN    LODGE.  185 

peculiarities ;  and,  for  the  week  that  his  illness 
lasted,  she  nursed  him  with'  great  tenderness, 
often  remarking  to  Tom, — 

"  He  is  one  of  God's  children,  Tom ;  for  the 
Bible  says,  '  God  has  made  of  one  blood  all  the 
nations  of  men  to  dwell  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth,'  and  Jesus  died  for  the  red  man  as  much  as 
for  the  white." 

Through  all  this  womanly  care  of  him  by  Mrs. 
Jones,  and  brotherly  attention  of  Tom,  the  In 
dian,  while  shivering  with  the  chill,  or  burning 
and  panting  with  the  fever,  made  no  acknowl 
edgments  of  kindness  shown  him,  or  uttered  a 
word  of  complaint  as  he  suffered,  and,  when  he 
recovered,  returned  in  silence  to  his  Indian  occu 
pations. 

"  I  wouldn't  give  one  of  the  red  skins  a  glass 
of  water  to  save  his  life  ! "  exclaimed  a  settler 
who  had  lost  by  the  depredations  of  the  Indians. 
"There  isn't  a  particle  of  gratitude  in  one  of 
'em.  Give  any  of  them  all  you  have,  and  ten 
to  one  he'll  steal  upon  you  out  of  a  bush,  and 
take  your  scalp." 

"It  is  too  true  of  most  of  the  Indians,  I  ad 
mit,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  and  perhaps  Long  Hair 
will  prove  ungrateful ;  but  I  only  did  as  the 
Bible  directs,  and  I  am  contented." 

But,  some  days  after,  as  Long  Hair  strode 
into  her  cabin  with  a  freshly-killed  deer  on  his 


1 86  THE   CABIN   ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 

shoulder,  which  he  deposited  at  her  feet,  saying, 
as  he  left,  —  for  he  tarried  not  to  sit  down,  — 
"  White  squaw,  much  good  ;  Long  Hair  bring  ven 
ison,"  Mrs.  Jones  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes, 
rejoicing  more  to  find  that  there  was  gratitude 
even  in  an  Indian's  heart,  than  at  receiving  his 
generous  gift. 


LONGHAIR  AND  HIS  PRESENT.     Page  186. 


THE   WAR-SONG.  187 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

r     THE   WAR-SONG. 

MRS.  PAYSON  sat  sewing  in  her  pleasant  room 
at  the  hotel.  Her  thoughts  were  far  away  from 
the  checkered  experiences  of  the  frontier,  for 
her  husband  —  having  received  by  the  last  mail 
a  new  book  from  an  eastern  friend  —  read  while 
she  plied  her  needle.  Baby  was  in  his  crib  in  the 
bed-room  adjoining,  and  Fannie  and  Helen  were 
whispering  in  a  matronly  way  in  the  corner,  as 
with  the  help  of  mother's  scissors  they  fitted  their 
dolls  to  new  dresses.  Had  you  looked  in  upon 
the  group,  you  would  not  realize  that  they  consti 
tuted  a  pioneer  missionary's  family ;  for  the  hotel 
building  was  tasteful  and  spacious,  and  if  they 
lived  and  dressed  plainly,  and  often  felt  the  pinch- 
ings  of  poverty,  their  appearance  betrayed  no 
unhappiness.  And  then  the  volume  had  trans 
ported  the  father  and  mother  to  other  and  brighter 
scenes  than  those  of  the  uncultured  wilderness. 
The  tone  of  the  reader  in  its  subdued  or  im 
passioned  modulations  attested  the  interest  he 
felt  in  the  volume,  and  the  heightened  color  of 


1 88  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

the  wife  showed  her  sympathy  with  the  theme. 
What  a  magician  is  a  book  !  It  can  cause  the 
poor  to  forget  their  poverty,  and  the  wanderer  in 
a  distant  land  to  become  oblivious  of  his  exile. 

"What  was  that?"  exclaimed  the  missionary 
and  his  wife  at  once,  as  they  sprang  to  their  feet 
in  breathless  suspense. 

Again  the  horrible  cry  broke  forth,  seeming  to 
come  from  the  room  below. 

At  this  moment  the  fair  face  of  the  landlady 
appeared,  and  she  said, — 

"  The  Indians  are  below,  and  are  going  to  sing 
for  us.  Won't  you  come  down  and  hear  them?" 

"  Rather  discordant  music,"  answered  the  min 
ister  ;  "  but  I  think  we  may  as  well  accept  your 
invitation  —  don't  you,  wife  ?  "  and  taking  the  chil 
dren  with  them,  they  descended  to  the  dining- 
room.  Ranged  round  the  long  table  were  eight 
savages,  and  sitting  back  against  the  walls  a  few 
boarders,  —  for  most  of  the  household  were  away. 
Some  of  the  Indians  held  tin  pans,  and  on  these, 
as  an  accompaniment,  they  beat  time  with  iron 
instruments,  their  heavy  blows  making  a  deafen 
ing  din,  and  their  harsh,  guttural  notes,  uttered  in 
unison,  made  the  diabolical  uproar.  Mr.  Pay- 
son's  inspection  of  the  performers  in  this  strange 
concert  was  anything  but  satisfactory  to  him. 
The  manner  of  the  savages  was  impudent  and 
brutal  beyond  anything  he  had  yet  seen  in  them, 


THE    WAR-SONG.  189 

and  he  fancied  that  their  sneering  and  malignant 
grimaces  and  serpent-like  contortions  of  the  body 
expressed  evil  and  vengeful  passions  that  burned 
within.  On  the  faces  of  the  whites  a  startled, 
anxious  look  struggled,  with  an  effort  to  feel  at 
ease,  and  fear  nothing. 

"There  is  something  wrong  about  these  In 
dians,"  whispered  the  minister  to  a  man  near 
him  ;  "they  are  plotting  mischief;  their  looks  and 
tones  are  full  of  ugliness ;  and  I  am  convinced 
that  if  they  intend  no  trouble  to-night,  they  know 
that  some  hidden  danger  threatens  us.  See  how 
that  chiefs  eye  glares.  Observe  the  murderous 
leer  of  the  one  beside  him.  Notice  how  they 
mock  and  insult  us  to  our  very  faces.  Now,  how 
awfully  jubilant  their  tones,  as  if  they  had  us  at 
their  mercy.  Do  you  suppose  they  are  secretly 
armed?"  and,  rising,  he  went  calmly  from  In 
dian  to  Indian,  lifting  the  blanket  of  each,  to  see 
if  a  rifle  cut  short,  or  some  other  deadly  weapon, 
was  not  concealed  there.  But  none  was  to  be 
found ;  and  at  the  close  of  their  alarming  exhi 
bition,  the  chief  haughtily  arose,  bowed  to  the 
missionary,  who  was  now  seated  again,  and  passed 
out ;  each  of  his  followers  imitating  him  in  the 
salute  as  he  glided  from  the  room. 

"  The  Indians  have  taken  down  their  wigwam, 
and  gone  away,"  said  Tom  to  Mr.  Payson,  the 
next  day. 


190  THE    CABIN   ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  replied  the  missionary  ; 
"  they  are  a  dangerous  set,  and  I  have  been  quite 
anxious  lest  the  settlers  should  get  into  a  quarrel 
with  them.  But  what  makes  you  look  so  de 
pressed?  Are  any  of  your  folks  sick?" 

"  No,"  replied  Tom,  striving  to  appear  calm. 
"  Father  came  home  last  night  —  " 

"Well,  that  was  a  pleasant  surprise  —  was  it 
not?"  interrupted  his  kind  friend. 

"  Yes  ;  but  —  but  —  he  wants  us  to  remove." 

"Remove!     Whereto?" 

«  Near  Spirit  Lake." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that.  I  heard  this  morning 
that  the  Sioux  are  quite  insolent  towards  the  set 
tlers  in  that  vicinity,  and  threaten  an  outbreak. 
I  must  see  your  father,  and  dissuade  him  from  his 
project ; "  and  the  minister  proceeded  to  the  cabin 
occupied  by  the  Joneses. 

It  wras  near  Spirit  Lake  that  Mr.  Jones  was 
wounded  by  the  Indian.  This,  however,  did  not 
deter  him  from  going  there  again  to  hunt.  Three 
promising  young  settlements  had  sprung  up  there, 
side  by  side,  for  the  beauty,  fertility,  and  cheap 
ness  of  the  land  had  attracted  quite  an  immigra 
tion  that  way.  Mr.  Jones  had  mingled  much 
with  the  settlers,  —  for  an  entirely  new  country 
had  special  charms  for  him,  —  and  his  knowledge 
of  all  matters  most  needful  to  the  pioneer  made 
him  a  welcome  acquaintance.  He  had  become  a 


THE    WAR-SONG.  19 1 

great  favorite  with  the  inhabitants.  The  Indians 
were  numerous  and  bold,  but  entertained  a  whole 
some  dread  of  the  squatter's  rifle  and  personal 
courage ;  and  the  whites,  although  they  did  not 
anticipate  serious  trouble  with  the  savages,  felt  so 
much  safer  when  he  was  with  them,  that  they 
offered  him  a  comfortable  cabin,  and  promised 
other  advantages  if  he  would  dwell  among 
them.  Among  the  Indians  Mr.  Jones  went  by 
the  name  of  Long  Rifle^  and  they  expressed  great 
admiration  of  his  marksmanship.  Occasions  not 
unfrequently  happened  for  him  to  show  his  su 
perior  qualities  in  that  line.  For  example,  the 
squatter  happened  in  one  day  at  a  cabin,  and 
found  some  half  dozen  Indians  there,  who  had 
busied  themselves,  in  the  absence  of  the  men,  in 
rummaging  the  house  for  plunder,  greatly  to  the 
terror  of  the  women  and  children.  As  Mr.  Jones 
appeared,  they  seated  themselves  with  Indian 
gravity,  refusing  to  answer  a  word,  while  their 
faces  wore  an  angry  and  sullen  look.  Among 
these  were  some  famous  for  their  skill  with  the 
rifle,  and,  knowing  their  passion  for  target-shoot 
ing,  he  proposed  at  once  a  trial  of  skill.  This 
was  eagerly  accepted  ;  but  the  squatter  triumphed 
in  the  contest,  and  the  Indians  went  away  much 
impressed  with  the  result. 

When  Mr.  Jones  returned  to  his  family,  and 
mentioned  his  decision   to   remove,  the  mother 


THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

heard  his  account  with  a  foreboding  heart,  but 
made  no  objection,  only  saying,  — 

"  We  mustn't  take  Tom  away  from  his  studies." 

To  this  the  father  assented,  for  he  really  felt 
grateful  to  the  missionary  for  the  interest  he  took 
in  his  son,  and  proud  of  the  progress  the  lad  was 
making  in  his  books. 

"Tom,"  said  he,  "has  a  good  chance,  and  it 
isn't  in  me  to  discourage  him." 

It  was,  however,  more  difficult  to  persuade  Tom 
to  remain  behind,  than  for  his  parents  to  give  him 
up,  —  hard  as  it  was  for  them.  He  had  so  long 
been  the  staff  of  his  mother,  that  it  seemed  like 
selfish  desertion  for  him  to  stay  with  the  mission 
ary,  while  she  went  farther  off  on  the  frontier. 

"  It  is  your  duty  to  remain,  Tom,"  urged  the 
mother.  "God  has  opened  the  way  for  you  to 
cultivate  your  mind,  and  fit  yourself  for  useful 
ness  ;  and  we  shall  not  be  so  far  away  but  that 
you  can  come  to  us  at  any  time,  if  we  need  you." 

"  And  are  you  not  afraid  to  go  where  there  are 
so  many  Indians?"  asked  Tom. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "I  am  afraid;  and  yet  I 
feel  strengthened  to  go.  Your  father  will  be 
useful  there.  He  is  fitted  to  take  the  lead  in  case 
of  trouble  with  the  savages ;  the  settlers  look  up 
to  him,  and  depend  upon  him,  and  I  cannot  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  hold  him  back ;  and  if  he  goes, 
it  is  best  for  me  to  be  with  him.  If  you  remain 


THE   WAR   SONG. 

behind,  we  shall  have  in  you  a  friend  to  as 
sist  us  if  any  trouble  should  arise.  You  might 
be  able  to  do  more  for  us  here  than  if  shut  up 
with  us  by  a  common  danger." 

And  so,  with  many  a  last  farewell  by  the  fond 
mother,  Tom  saw  them  start  for  their  new.  home. 
13 


194  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    MASSACRE   AT    SPIRIT    LAKE. 

BETWEEN  the  settlement  in  which  the  mission 
ary  lived  and  the  one  next  north-east  was  a  wide 
prairie,  succeeded  by  a  stretch  of  primitive  for 
ests,  through  which,  down  its  abysmal,  rocky  bed, 
ran  a  foaming  river.  The  limestone  bluffs  that 
formed  its  banks  abounded  in  holes  and  caves  — 
fitting  homes  for  wild  beasts.  Here  the  cry  of 
the  panther  might  be  heard,  and  bears  and 
wolves  sought  their  food. 

Through  these  gloomy  solitudes  Tom  was 
making  his  way  in  the  buggy,  which  the  mis 
sionary  had  provided ;  for  Tom  had  been  in 
trusted  with  the  errand  of  going  to  the  village 
beyond  for  a  trunk  which  had  arrived  from  the  east 
for  Mr.  Pay  son.  He  was  jogging  along,  listen 
ing  to  the  strange  sounds  of  the  forest;  for  it 
was  near  here,  the  last  winter,  that  a  sight  met  his 
gaze  that  he  could  never  forget.  There  had  been 
a  succession  of  those  still  snow-storms  which  so 
often  come  in  the  night  in  Minnesota,  and  go  off 
at  day-dawn,  leaving  a  perfectly  even  coating  of 


THE    MASSACRE    AT    SPIRIT    LAKE.  195 

snow  over  everything.  The  sleighing  was  quite 
passable,  and  the  weather,  that  day,  mild.  Com 
ing  suddenly  to  an  open  space,  within  a  few  feet 
of  him,  were  two  large  gray  wolves,  eating  a 
horse  not  yet  dead.  The  poor  beast  was  still  at 
tached  to  his  team,  and  hopelessly  struggled 
against  his  twofold  fate ;  for  he  had  fallen  into 
a  '  sink-hole  '  that  the  treacherous  snow  had  con 
cealed,  and  his  driver,  unable  to  extricate  him, 
had  abandoned  him  to  his  fate,  or  gone  for  help. 
Brandishing  his  .  whip,  Tom  shouted  at  the 
wolves  in  hope  of  frightening  them  off.  They 
only  raised  their  heads  to  glare  threateningly  at 
him,  their  jaws  dripping  blood,  then  voraciously 
resumed  their  gory  repast,  tearing  great  quiver 
ing  masses  of  flesh  from  the  struggling  beast, 
which  they  seemed  to  swallow  without  chewing, 
with  such  a  ravenous  appetite  did  they  eat. 

Tom  was  a  brave  lad.  But  as  he  descended 
the  side  of  the  hill  towards  the  river,  and  the 
dense  shadows  made  his  way  dim,  although  it 
was  high  noon  and  a  brilliant  sun  was  flooding 
the  prairies,  he  could  not  shake  off  a  Reeling  of 
dread  that  had  grown  upon  him.  Every  now 
and  then  he  caught  himself  starting  with  nervous 
apprehension,  and,  to  break  the  spell,  he  began 
to  whistle  a  merry  tune,  to  keep  up  his  courage, 
as  boys  are  wont  to  do.  But  he  was  thinking 
how  dismally  it  sounded,  when,  suddenly,  in  the 


Ip  THE    CABIN   ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

distance  rang  out  the  clear  notes  of  a  robin. 
Tom  involuntarily  reined  in  his  horse  at  that ; 
for  the  call  of  that  bird  his  Indian  friend  Long 
Hair  used  to  imitate  for  a  signal,  and  had  taught 
Tom  how  to  do  it. 

"For  the  sake  of  Long  Hair,"  said  Tom, 
more  cheerily,  "I'll  answer  you,  old  bird." 

But  scarcely  had  he  done  so,  when,  to  his 
surprise,  the  bird  responded. 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "you  think  I'm  your  mate, 
I  guess;  and  if  you  choose  to  give  me  your 
company,  I  shall  not  object,  it  is  so  lonely 
here  !  " 

So  he  answered  the  robin  again. 

Instantly  the  bushes  parted,  and  Long  Hair 
stepped  into  view.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his 
blanket  torn,  and  his  whole  appearance  indicated 
that  something  unusual  had  happened. 

"Why,  Long  Hair  !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  greatly 
startled  ;  "  what  is  the  matter?  " 

The  Indian  glanced  warily  about,  then  laid 
his  ear  to  the  ground,  listening  intently,  and 
arose  quickly,  saying,  — 

"  Indian  come.  Much  fight.  Kill  white  man  ; 
kill  white  squaw ;  kill  pappoose." 

"What  of  my  father  and  mother?"  inquired 
Tom,  excitedly.  "  Have  they  been  murdered?" 

"  Long  Hair  save  'um  little ;  father  shoot  one, 
two,  tree,  ten  Injun.  Long  Hair  been  up  to  Fort. 


THE    MASSACRE    AT    SPIRIT    LAKE.  197 

Sojer  no  bleeve  Long  Hair ;  say  he  spy.  Long 
Hair  come  for  Tom  to  get  sojer.  Injun  see  Long 
Hair;  be  here  pretty  soon  —  one,  two,  tree,  ten, 
twenty, fifty!  Kill  Long  Hair,  kill  Tom,  take 
scalp.  Tom  go  with  Long  Hair.  He  save  him. 
Horse  know  way  home." 

Tom  saw,  from  Long  Hair's  manner,  that  it 
was  no  time  for  delay,  and,  leaping  from  the 
wagon,  with  marvellous  quickness  the  Indian 
turned  the  horse's  head  about,  facing  home,  and, 
striking  him  smartly,  the  spirited  animal  rapidly 
retraced  his  way. 

At  their  right  rose  a  rocky  ridge  to  a  consid 
erable  height,  springing  up  which  Long  Hair 
motioned  Tom  to  follow.  The  other  side  was 
quite  precipitous ;  but  a  narrow  fissure  hi  the 
rock  afforded  a  scanty  footing,  down  which  the 
Indian  glided,  Tom  following  him,  although 
dizzy  with  the  height.  Passing  along  for  a  short 
distance,  they  came  to  a  scrub  oak,  the  roots  of 
which  had  struck  into  the  side  of  the  ledge. 
Climbing  around  it,  a  small  opening  appeared. 
Motioning  Tom  to  enter,  Long  Hair  said, — 

"If  both  stay,  Injun  kill  both.  Long  Hair 
run  swift  like  deer ;  "  and  he  darted  up  the  ridge 
again  with  cat-like  agility. 

When  Tom's  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the 
darkness,  he  found  himself  in  a  spacious,  rocky 
room.  It  was  one  of  those  natural  caves  which 


198  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

seem  as  if  the  work  of  art,  rather  than  a  freak  of 
nature.  The  room  was  almost  a  perfect  square, 
and  extending  around  its  sides  was  a  seat  of  solid 
rock,  while  in  a  square  hole,  which  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  excavated  for  the  purpose,  was  a 
spring,  the  water  of  which  was  icy  cold,  and  of 
crystal  clearness. 

Tom  seated  himself  to  await  the  result  of  the 
strange  events  that  had  so  suddenly  befallen 
him.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  in  the  forest ; 
and  had  he  not  known  enough  of  the  Indian 
acuteness  in  detecting  the  approach  of  a  con 
cealed  or  distant  foe,  he  would  have  doubted 
Long  Hair's  representations  of  the  impending 
peril.  Indeed,  as  the  moments  sped,  —  and  they 
seemed  long  to  him,  — he  had  begun  to  consider 
the  propriety  of  venturing  out  to  look  about  a 
little,  when  a  slight  rustle  in  the  ravine  below 
arrested  his  attention.  At  any  other  time  he 
would  not  have  noticed  the  sound,  it  was  so  like 
the  passing  of  the  breeze.  The  scrawny  roots 
of  the  tree  at  the  entrance  of  the  cave,  and  the 
darkness  within,  protected  him  from  observation  ; 
and,  drawing  nearer  the  mouth  of  the  cavern, 
he  watched  the  bushes  below  with  strained  eye. 
He  had  not  long  to  wait  when  he  saw  an  Indian 
creeping  cautiously  along ;  then,  a  little  farther 
off,  another  came  into  view,  and  still  another. 
They  were  Long  Hair's  pursuers ;  and  from 


THE    MASSACRE   AT    SPIRIT    LAKE.  199 

their  belts  hung  a  number  of  scalps,  which,  from 
their  bloody  appearance,  showed  that  they  had 
recently  been  taken;  and  the  luxuriant  tresses 
of  some  of  them  indicated  that  they  were  from 
the  heads  of  white  women.  At  the  sight  Tom's 
blood  almost  froze  in  his  veins.  But  his  heart 
gave  a  sudden  bound  as  he  heard  the  sound  of 
soft  footfalls.  From  this  he  judged  that  the  In 
dians  had  got  upon  Long  Hair's  trail,  and  some 
of  them  had  gone  round  in  front  of  the  ridge, 
while  the  others  followed  closely  in  his  track. 
Tom  felt  that  his  hour  had  come,  and  a  mortal 
terror  seized  him.  Then,  thinking  of  his  im 
perilled  father  and  mother,  to  whose  succor  Long 
Hair  had  bidden  him  go,  he  was  astonished  at 
the  fierce  reaction  which  followed.  He  had  no 
weapons ;  so,  planting  himself  behind  the  tree, 
he  lay  in  wait,  ready  to  spring  upon  the  first 
intruder,  and  hurl  him  into  the  depths  below. 

The  dark  figure  of  an  Indian  creeping  stealth 
ily  along,  like  a  horrid  serpent,  he  saw  cau 
tiously  approaching  the  tree  :  a  moment  more, 
and  the  death  grapple  would  come,  when  an  ex 
clamation  above  made  the  Indian  turn  his  head. 
Long  Hair's  trail,  returning  from  the  cave,  had 
been  struck  by  another  Indian.  At  the  same 
instant,  Long  Hair's  defiant  war-whoop,  challen 
ging  his  pursuers  to  come  on,  was  heard  in  the 
distance.  The  answering  yell  of  the  savages 


2OO  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

from  the  ravine  below  and  the  ridge  above  rang 
out  as  they  dashed  after.  The  Indian,  unaware 
of  the  presence  of  Tom,  stepped  to  the  tree  to 
turn  himself  on  the  face  of  the  cliff,  so  that  he 
stood  with  his  brawny  back  close  to  Tom.  His 
waist  also  was  hung  with  gory  scalps.  The 
sight  maddened  Tom  to  frenzy.  The  savage  let 
go  the  tree,  and  started  to  join  the  chase,  when 
Tom  thrust  his  hands  at  once  through  the  fissure, 
and  sent  him  headlong  from  the  precipice.  The 
body  struck  with  a  dull,  heavy  thud,  and  all  was 
still. 

Tom  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  pursuit  as  it 
died  away,  and  knew  that  there  was  now  no  im 
mediate  danger  to  him ;  and,  stooping  down,  he 
took  a  long  draught  from  the  spring,  and  bathed 
his  fevered  brow.  Then;  climbing  out  of  his 
hiding-place,  he  passed  quickly  upon  the  ridge, 
and  descended  into  the  ravine  below,  where  lay 
the  mutilated  form  of  the  red  man. 

"  Who  knows  but  he  is  the  murderer  of  some 
of  our  family?  "  he  said,  as  he  drew  near.  "  No  ; 
none  of  our  folks  have  such  hair  as  that,"  he 
added,  after  examining  the  scalps,  one  by  one. 
Then,  taking  possession  of  the  rifle,  powder- 
horn,  and  bullet-pouch,  and  thrusting  the  In 
dian's  scalping-knife  into  his  belt,  and  throwing 
some  limbs  over  the  body,  that  it  might  not  so 
soon  be  discovered  by  his  friends,  Tom  hurried 


.       THE    MASSACRE   AT    SPIRIT    LAKE.  2OI 

away  in  the  direction  of  the  fort,  as  Long  Hair 
had  suggested.  He  lingered  a  moment,  how 
ever,  wishing  that  he  could  do  something  to 
serve  Long  Hair,  who,  he  well  knew,  had  ut 
tered  that  challenging  war-cry  that  saved  his 
life  on  purpose  to  call  the  Indians  away  from  the 
cave. 

But  what  was  he?  A  mere  boy  against  so 
many  infuriated  savages.  Besides,  they  were 
now  far  away,  he  knew  not  where.  Moreover, 
Long  Hair  had  charged  him  to  go  for  the  sol 
diers  to  rescue  his  father  and  mother,  and,  with 
out  further  hesitation,  he  turned  his  steps  towards 
the  fort.  Tom  was  in  good  health,  a  quick 
walker,  and,  like  his  father,  accustomed  to  thread 
the  woods  and  traverse  the  prairies. 

Tom  was  agitated  with  strong  and  conflicting 
emotions  as  he  pursued  his  lonely  way.  His 
boy-nature  had  been  terribly  roused  by  the  ex 
citing  scenes  through  which  he  had  just  passed. 
He  had  experienced  the  strange  feeling  which 
men  feel,  when,  in  battle,  they  are  stirred  by  dan 
ger  and  the  sight  of  blood  to  deeds  of  blood. 
It  was  under  this  feeling  that  he  was  led  to  pre 
cipitate  the  Indian  from  the  bluff,  and  to  view  his 
remains  with  so  much  composure.  But  now  a 
faintness  came  stealing  over  him.  His  young 
heart  recoiled  at  the  thought  of  what  he  had 
done.  This  relenting,  however,  was  repelled  by 


2O2  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

the  recollection  of  Long  Hair's  heroism,  and  his 
father  and  mother's  beleagured  condition,  if,  in 
deed,  the  tomahawk  ere  this  had  not  drank  their 
life.  How  many  days  had  passed  since  Long 
Hair  had  seen  them  he  knew  not ;  but  it  was 
easy  to  see  from  his  friend's  anxiety  that  his 
parents  were  in  an  extremity  of  danger,  and 
whether  he  could  succeed  in  procuring  assistance 
for  them  in  season  seemed  doubtful.  It  would 
take  him,  to  go  afoot,  two  days  to  reach  the  fort; 
and  he  could  not  hope  to  get  to  his  father's  settle 
ment  with  the  soldiers  in  less  than  a  day  more, 
even  if  they  were  mounted.  It  was  now  about 
two  o'clock,  and  he  had  eaten  nothing  since 
early  in  the  morning ;  but  he  thought  not  of  food 
as  he  hurried  on.  With  the  accuracy  of  the 
practised  pioneer  he  struck  a  bee-line  for  the  fort. 
This  took  him  some  miles  away  from  any  village  ; 
but  towards  night  he  reached  a  cabin  standing 
alone.  Entering,  he  found  the  family  just  taking 
their  evening  meal.  With  true  western  hospital 
ity,  the  man  of  the  house  urged  him  to  sit  down 
and  partake  with  them,  while  his  wife  poured  out 
a  generous  bowl  of  strong,  black  coffee,  which, 
as  was  the  custom,  was  used  without  sugar  or 
milk ;  and  she  heaped  his  plate  with  fried  pork, 
and  hot,  mealy  potatoes,  while  by  the  side  of  his 
plate  she  laid  a  generous  slice  of  brown  bread. 


THE    MASSACRE    AT    SPIRIT    LAKE.  203 

Tom  partook  with  a  relish  that  did  honor  to  the 
fare. 

"Where  are  you  from,  and  where  are  you 
bound,  my  lad?"  asked  the  man,  who  had  re 
frained  from  questions  until  he  saw  that  his  guest 
was  well  under  way  eating. 

Tom's  mouth  and  heart  were  full,  and  between 
them  both  he  found  it  difficult  to  reply.  He  was 
painfully  hungry  from  his  long  fast  and  the  thrill 
ing  experiences  of  the  day,  and  his  brain  was 
greatly  excited. 

w  I  am  going,"  said  he,  answering  the  last 
question  first,  perhaps  because  it  was  nearest  at 
hand,  "to  the  fort  after  help." 

"After  help  !  "  cried  the  wife,  stopping  short  in 
the  act  of  transferring  a  potato  from  the  end  of 
her  fork  to  Tom's  plate,  holding  it  aloft  uncon 
sciously.  "  Ain't  any  trouble  down  your  way 
with  the  Injuns — is  there?" 

"No,  not  exactly,"  said  Tom. 

And  the  good  woman,  relieved,  remembered 
the  potato,  and  deposited  it  as  she  had  designed, 
then  was  proceeding  to  place  another  slice  of 
pork  beside  it,  just  as  Tom  added,  — 

"  But  I  saw  lots  of  them  this  morning  not  more 
than  twelve  miles  from  here,  and  they  looked 
fierce  enough  in  their  war-paint,  and  with  the 
bloody  scalps  dangling  from  their  bodies." 

"  Goodness   gracious !  "    exclaimed    the    good 


204  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

lady ;  and,  again  forgetting  herself,  she  paused 
with  the  pork,  letting  the  fat  drip  upon  the 
snowy  cloth.  "I  told  you,  husband,  they'd  be 
down  upon  us  yet,  and  we  more  'n  three  miles 
from  any  neighbor." 

And  as  Tom  commenced  his  recital  of  the 
occurrences  of  the  morning,  she  sat  down  in  her 
chair  with  the  slice  of  meat  still  in  its  elevated 
position,  and  the  gravy  dripping  into  her  lap, 
while  the  husband  ceased  eating,  and  listened 
with  open-mouthed  interest. 

Tom  eyed  the  pork  longingly  as  he  continued 
his  narration,  and,  seeing  no  prospect  of  getting 
it,  abruptly  said,  — 

"  I  hadn't  tasted  a  bit  of  food  till  I  came  here 
since  five  o'clock  this  morning,  and  I've  got  to 
walk  all  night." 

"  Law  me  !  "  ejaculated  his  good-hearted  host 
ess  ;  "  if  I  haven't  forgot  to -help  ye,  I  was  so 
scared  'bout  the  Injuns  ; "  and  she  passed  it,  add 
ing,  "Husband,  you  jist  go  down  cellar,  and 
bring  up  a  pumpkin  pie,  and  some  o'  that  ginger 
bread.  The  boy  mustn't  leave  this  huss  till  he's 
had  his  fill ;  "  and  the  tears  came  into  her  large 
blue  eyes.  "  And  are  you  going  with  the  sojers 
over  among  the  Injuns  where  your  father  and 
mother  is  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Tom. 

"  Why,  it  seems  to  me  that  a  stripling  like  you 


THE   MASSACRE   AT   SPIRIT   LAKE.  205 

had  best  stay  behind,  and  keep  out  o'  danger. 
One  o'  them  Injuns  wouldn't  make  nothin'  o'  tak 
ing  your  scalp." 

Tom's  spirit  rose  at  this,  and  he  told  them  how 
he  killed  the  Indian  in  the  morning. 

"  Well,  I  never  !  "  said  the  good  lady,  in  blank 
astonishment.  "  Why,  I  don't  s'pose  my  husband 
here  would  be  any  more  dependence  if  them  wild 
critters  should  come  beseeching  our  dwelling  than 
a  three-year-old." 

At  which  the  husband  thrust  his  hand  up  into 
his  wiry  hair,  till  he  made  it  stand  upon  end  all 
over  his  head,  while  he  grew  very  red  in  the 
face,  and  said,  fiercely,  — 

"Let  the  varmints  come  on  if  they  wants,  to. 
Guess  I  could  stand  it  if  you  could." 

Tom  saw  that  there  was  danger  of  a  falling 
out  between  his  fat,  overgrown  hostess  and  her 
diminutive  husband,  and  adroitly  said, — 

"We  don't  any  one  of  us  know  what  we  could 
do  until  the  time  comes.  I  was  surprised  my 
self  at  what  I  had  done." 

"Well,"  said  the  woman,  restored  to  good 
humor,  "there's  a  great  deal  o'  good  sense  in 
that  remark.  I  know  it  from  experience.  For 
when  I  had  the  toothache  so  that  I  couldn't  sleep 
nights  for  a  week,  and  husband  wanted  to  take 
me  over  to  Groveville,  to  the  doctor's,  I  felt  as 
weak  as  dish-water;  but  when  I  got  there,  I 


2O6  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

had  out  two  jaw  teeth  and  a  stump  without  win- 
cm',  as  you  may  say,  and  the  doctor  said  he'd 
like  me  for  a  subject  to  pull  on  all  the  time.  But 
I  told  him  it  would  take  two  to  make  a  bargain 
on  that,  I  reckoned ; "  and  she  laughed  heartily 
at  the  remembrance  of  her  own  wit. 

But  Tom  had  finished  his  meal,  and  rose  to  go, 
when  his  hostess  said, — 

"  You  won't  think  o'  travelling  in  the  night  — 
willyer?" 

"  Every  moment  is  precious,"  replied  Tom. 

"Well,  husband,"  said  she,  "if  the  boy  feels, 
under  the  circumstances,  that  he  must  go,  it  isn't 
in  me  to  detain ^him.  But  it  seems  to  me  we  orter 
do  as  we'd  be  did  by;  and  help  him  onto  his 
way  a  piece.  Now,  you  jist  go  and  harness  the 
hoss  into  the  waggin  while  I  put  up  something 
to  stay'  his  stomach  like  till  he  gets  to  the  fort. 
You  could  drive  him  there  just  as  well  as  not, 
husband." 

"  Pretty  long  drive,"  observed  the  man,  look 
ing  out  of  the  little  window  dubiously. 

"Well,  but," she  persisted,  "you  see  the  child's 
got  to  go^all  the  way  afoot,  and  it'll  take  so  long 
that  his  folks  '11  be  killed,  murdered,  tomahawked, 
and  scalped,  afore  he  can  git  there."  Then, 
waxing  warm,  "an'  if  you*  an'  I  was  in  that  per- 
dicament,  we'd  want  them  as  was  going  to  help 


THE    MASSACRE   AT   SPIRIT   LAKE.  207 

us  not  to  aggervate  our  feelin's  by  coming  to  our 
rescue  when  it  was  too  late." 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  the  little  man,  unable  to 
reply  to  his  wife's  wordy  reasoning. 

"  Now,  if  you're  not  afeard  —  " 

"Afeard!"  said  he,  bristling  his  hair,  and 
reddening  again.  "Who's  afeard?  I  was  only 
thinking,  if  the  Injuns  should  come  whilst  I'm 
gone,  what  would  become  of  you,  Barberv 
Jane." 

"Well,"  said  she,  looking  aghast,  and  sinking 
into  her  chair  anew,  "  I  declare,  if  I  hadn't  forgot 
that !  " 

But  she  was  a  person  who  "  made  it  a  point " 
to  carry  her  point  in  all  domestic  arrangements 
and  controversies  with  her  lord ;  and  partly  on 
this  principle,  andpartly,  we  hope,  from  a  worthier 
motive,  she  rallied,  and  added,  — 

"But  I'll  risk  it,  if  you  will,  James.  An'  I'm 
more  in  danger  'n  you  are,  bein'  I'm  so  fleshy. 
You  can  hide  most  anywhere  in  the  woods,  and 
they  couldn't  find  ye  any  more  'n  a  needle  in  a 
haymow ;  an'  I  never  could  stand  it  to  think  on't 
that  we'd  been  sich  cowards  —  " 

"  Cowards  !  "  interrupted  her  husband,  goaded 
by  this  ;  for  on  the  matter  of  size  and  courage  he 
was  specially  sore  —  a  wound  which  his  spouse 
took  care  to  keep  open.  "  Cowards  !  "  and,  bris 
tling  about,  and  striking  his  feet  together,  he 


2O8  THE   CABIN   ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 

bustled  out,  and,  with  commendable  energy,  soon 
had  the  horse  in  the  buggy  before  the  door.  Tom 
sprang  in,  as  the  kind-hearted  woman  passed  him 
a  bountiful  supply  of  provisions,  saying,  as  she 
wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron,  — 

"  I  hope  next  time  you  come  this  way  you'll 
be  alive  an'  well ;  but  I'm  dreadful  afeard  the 
Injuns '11  git  ye."  The  latter  remark  seemed  to 
have  more  effect  upon  her  husband  than  Tom, 
for  the  flush  disappeared  from  his  cheeks  again. 

The  ponderous  wife  watched  the  wagon  until 
it  was  out  of  sight",  then,  with  much  pains,  fas 
tened  the  little  window  and  the  outer  door,  and, 
going  to  her  trunk,  took  from  thence  a  copy  of 
the  Bible,  and  sat  down  and  read  a  chapter — a 
duty  which  she  always  performed  on  extra  occa 
sions,  and  especially  in  times  of  danger.  It 
mattered  not  to  her  what  chapter  she  read ;  and 
she  now  opened  to  the  genealogical  records  in 
Firs't  Chronicles.  She  was  a  poor  reader  at  best ; 
but  she  struggled  on  with  those  names  of  foreign 
accent,  feeling  much  safer  with  the  exercise,  while 
her  thoughts  were  far  away,  following  Tom  and 
her  husband.  In  truth,  she  had  done  a  good 
deed,  and  one  that  had  cost  her  a  real  sacrifice, 
in  sending  away  her  husband  with  the  horse  to 
accompany  the  lad ;  and  the  consciousness  of 
this  began  to  fill  her  with  happiness,  calmed  as 
she  was  by  the  feeling  of  security  which  the 


THE    MASSACRE   AT   SPIRIT   LAKE. 

use  of  the  good  Book  imparted.  Hers  was  a 
simple-hearted  faith ;  but  who  shall  say  that  she 
was  not  accepted  and  blessed  according  to  the 
measure  of  her  light? 

Who  would  not  choose  to  be  such  a  one, 
with  her  defective  knowledge  and  her  weak 
superstition,  —  as  some  would  call  it,  —  than  the 
proud  sceptic,  ever  croaking,  like  some  hideous 
night-bird,  as  he  turns  his  bleared  eyes  away 
from  the  beams  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness, 
"  No  God,  no  Bible,  no  Saviour,  no  Heaven  of 
blessedness,  no  Immortality,"  wandering  through 
life  without  hope  and  God  in  the  world,  and,  at 
death,  taking  a  frightful  "  leap  in  the  dark  "  ! 


2IO  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A   BELEAGUERED    CABIN. 

IT  was  a  misty  morning  when  Tom  and  his 
companion  approached  the  fort.  The  air  was 
damp  with  vapor,  and  the  American  flag,  with 
its  glorious  stars  and  stripes,  drooped  heavily. 
The  fortress  was  on  the  very  outskirts  of  civiliza 
tion,  on  an  elevated  point  of  land,  commanding 
an  extensive  prospect  on  every  side.  Richly 
diversified  prairies,  rarely  pressed  by  the  white 
man's  foot,  gave  one  an  impressive  sense  of  vast- 
ness  and  magnificence.  As  the  sun  arose,  and 
the  curtain  of  fog  rolled  off,  Tom  gazed  on  the 
landscape,  spell-bound ;  for,  accustomed  as  he 
was  to  prairie  scenery,  he  had  never  seen  any 
view  that  equalled  this. 

"  Not  an  Injun  could  come  nigh  this  ere  fort," 
said  the  little  man  that  held  the  reins  ;  "  everybody 
has  to  be  seen,  no  matter  how  fur  off  they  be, 
specially  when  the  officers  gits  their  telescopes  to 
their  eyes.  Why,  I  suppose  they  can  see  hun 
dreds  o'  miles  with  one  of  them  big  glasses ;  any 


A   BELEAGUERED    CABIN.  211 

rate,  I  heard  tell  about  their  seeing  clean  up  to 
the  stars,  an'  a  good  piece  bey  end." 

They  had  now  approached  a  gate,  before  which 
paced  an  armed  sentry,  in  answer  to  whose  chal 
lenge,  the  little  man,  who  grew  consequential  as 
he  neared  the  citadel,  said,  — 

"This  ere  youngster,  Mr.  Sojer,  wants  to  see 
the  commander  of  this  ere  institution  on  very  per- 
ticler  business,  which  admits  of  no  delay." 

The  man  with  the  gun  sent  a  message  into  the 
fort  without  a  word  in  reply,  until  the  messenger 
returned,  when  he  said,  laconically,  — 
"  Pass  in." 

Tom  had  never  before  seen  a  fortress,  and  sur 
veyed  with  eager  interest  the  rows  of  heavy  guns, 
and  the  cannon-balls  in  conical  shaped  piles,  and 
the  long,  four-storied  brick  buildings  extending 
around  the  spacious  square,  from  the  centre  of 
which  rose  the  flagstaff.  Grimly  as  frowned  the 
guns  and  warlike  munitions,  the  neatness  and 
order  that  reigned  had  a  pleasing  effect  on  Tom's 
mind.  And  within  those  many-roomed  buildings, 
standing  amid  the  solitudes  of  the  wilderness,  in 
the  families  of  the  officers  gayety  and  mirth  often 
held  carnival.  Already  a  gush  of  music,  elicited 
by  fair  fingers  from  a  richly-toned  piano,  was 
borne  through  an  open  window  into  the  court 
below.  Then  a  clear,  sweet  voice  accompanied 
the  instrument. 


212  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  Pooty  as  a  bird,  and  a  plaguy  sight  nicer," 
exclaimed  the  little  man  as  he  frisked  about, 
hitching  his  horse  to  an  iron-ringed  post. 

Tom  and  his  friend  were  shown  into  the  dining- 
room  of  the  commander  of  the  fort.  The  officer 
was  an  early  riser,  and  breakfasted  betimes.  The 
mahogany  extension  table  was  set  with  an  elegant 
service.  General  McElroy  was  a  tall,  slender 
man,  with  iron-gray  hair  and  weather-beaten 
face.  His  wife,  a  richly-dressed,  stately  lady,  sat 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  a  boy  of  seven,  in 
Highland  costume,  was  at  her  side,  while  black 
Nancy  flitted  in  and  out  with  viands  in  her  hands. 

"Well,  my  lad,"  said  the  general,  sedately, 
"  what  do  you  want  of  'me  ?  "  motioning  his  callers 
to  be  seated.  ^ 

Tom  commenced  to  state  the  occasion  of  his 
calling,  and  the  general's  stolid  features  lighted 
up  with  growing  interest ;  and  he  said,  — 

"  Wait  a  moment,  my  boy ;  I  guess  you've  a 
message  important  enough,  and  it  will  save  time 
for  you  to  relate  it  to  two  of  us  at  once  ;  "  and  pull 
ing'  a  bell-rope,  a  soldier  appeared,  to  whom  he 
said,  — 

"Tell  Captain  Manly  that  I  wish  to  see  him." 

-In  a  moment  the  last-named  personage  came 
in.  He  was  about  forty,  of  frank,  open  face,  and 
soldierly  bearing.  Tom  liked  him  at  the  first 
glance. 


A    BELEAGUERED    CABIN.  213 

"  Captain,"  said  the  general,  "  I  want  you  to 
hear  this  boy's  story.  Commence  again,  my  lad, 
and  state  the  whole  as  briefly  and  connectedly  as 
you  can." 

When  Tom  finished  his  recital,  "You  are  a 
brave  little  fellow,"  said  the  general,  "  and  in  my 
opinion,  if  you  were  in  the  ranks,  you  would 
be  sure  to  be  well  spoken  of;  "  then  turning  to  the 
captain,  he  added,  "This  is  grave  business, 
Manly,  and  something  should  be  done  for  the  set 
tlers  whom  this  boy  represents.  I  heard  that  an 
Indian  called  at  the  fort,  and  tried  to  make  us 
understand  that  there  was  an  uprising  ;  and  I  sup 
pose  it  was  this  Long  Hair  that  the  lad  tells  about, 
but  I  did  not  attach  much  importance  to  what  he 
said.  And  now,  Manly,  I  want  you  to  take  a 
detachment  of  men,  —  for  I  think  I  can  depend 
on  you  to  do  it  up  right.  See  that  they  are  well 
mounted  and  provisioned,  and  that  their  arms  are 
ift  good  order,  —  but  you  understand  all  about 
that,  —  and  go  to  the  relief  of  the  settlement  that 
these  villains  have  beset." 

Then  turning  to  Tom,  he  asked,  — 

"  What  is  your  name,  young  man?  " 

"  Thomas  Jones,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  Thomas,  I  conclude  you  will  want  to 
go  with  the  men." 

"  Yes,  sir." 


214  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  And  do  you  know  the  shortest  route  to  the 
settlement  in  question  ?  " 

Tom  answered  affirmatively. 

"  Include  a  horse  for  the  boy's  use,  captain, 
and  see  that  he  is  well  provided  for.  He  may  be 
of  use  in  piloting  the  way.  At  any  rate  he  is  a 
noble-spirited  fellow,  and  deserves  consideration 
at  our  hands.  How  many  men  will  you  need, 
captain  ?  " 

"  I'd  as  lief  have  forty  as  more,  if  I  can  have 
my  pick." 

w  Make  such  arrangements  as  will  please  you  ; 
and  I  hope  to  have  a  good  report  when  you  come 
back.  The  rascally  red-skins  should  be  taught 
a  severe  lesson  for  this  outrage,  or  they  may  com 
mit  more." 

Tom  and  his  friend  rose  to  withdraw  with  the 
under-officer,  when  the  general  said,  — 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  how  far  you  came 
this  morning." 

"  We  rode  all  night,"  returned  Tom  ;  "  I  took 
supper  at  this  man's  cabin,  and  he  brought  me 
here  in  his  wagon  to  save  time." 

"  Bless  me  !  "  ejaculated  the  general,  as  he  left 
the  table  ;  "  that  has  the  true  ring  in  it.  Nancy, 
see  that  these  folks  have  a  sip  of  coffee,  and 
something  to  eat,  and  when  you've  broke  your 
fast,  my  lad,  come  out  into  the  square.  I  guess 
the  captain  will  be  ready  by  that  time." 


A   BELEAGUERED    CABIN.  2 15 

Tom  felt  some  diffidence  about  accepting  the 
invitation  of  the  general;  but  Mrs.  McElroy 
was  a  true  lady,  and  her  winning  smile,  as  she 
filled  his  cup  with  the  fragrant  beverage  from  the 
silver  urn,  put  him  at  ease.  She  had  many  a 
woman's  question  to  ask  about  his  adventures  of 
3Testerday  morning,  and  seemed  never  to  tire  ad 
miring  his  heroic  conduct.  He  was  just  explain 
ing  for  the  third  time  how  he  pushed  the  savage 
from  the  cliff,  when  his  voice  was  drowned  by 
that  of  a  girl,  who  came  tripping  and  singing 
through  the  long  hall  that  led  into  the  dining-room. 
Hers  were  the  same  bird-like  notes  that  came 
through  the  open  window.  It  was  the  general's 
only  daughter,  Alice,  who,  as  she  burst  into  the 
apartment,  stopped  in  surprise  as  she  saw  stran 
gers  there. 

"Just  in  time,  Alice,"  said  the  mother,  pleasant 
ly,  "  to  hear  this  story." 

The  girl  was  scarcely  in  her  teens,  and  her  fair 
face,  expressive  of  good  sense,  gentleness,  and 
intellectuality,  was  set  off  by  a  wealth  of  au 
burn  curls  that  fell  in  careless  profusion  over  her 
shoulders. 

Tom  had  never  known  anything  of  sentiment, 
or  thought  much  of  personal  looks,  but  he  had. a 
quick  eye  for  grace  and  beauty,  and,  charmed  at 
the  unexpected  ingress  of  the  little  fairy,  he  forgot 
alike  his  food,  his  manners,  and  his  story,  and 


2l6  THE    CABIN   ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

gazed  in  stupid  silence  at  the  lovely  apparition. 
The  mother  comprehended  the  state  of  things, 
and,  with  a  look  of  gratified  maternal  pride,  said 
to  Tom,  — 

"  But  you  mustn't  forget  your  plate ;  you  have 
had  a  long  ride,  you  know,  and  have  another 
before  you." 

This  recalled  Tom  to  his  senses,  and  in  his 
straightforward,  manly  way  he  finished  the  ac 
count  of  the  affair. 

"  The  captain's  most  ready,"  said  black  Nancy, 
glancing  out  of  the  window,  as  Tom  finished  his 
repast. 

"Farewell,  my  boy,"  said  Mrs.  McElroy.  "I 
wish  you  success,  and  hope  no  harm  will  come  to 
you ; "  and  Tom  went  out  and  mounted  the  horse 
that  had  been  provided  for  him,  and  shaking 
hands  with  the  kind  settler  who  brought  him 
there,  he  saw  Mrs.  McElroy  and  Alice  waving 
their  handkerchiefs,  as  he  and  the  men  rode  in 
military  order  out  of  the  square. 

The  horses  were  in  good  order,  and  the  men 
in  fine  spirits,  glad,  after  their  idle  life  within  the 
fort,  to  be  sent  on  active  duty.  The  day  was 
almost  cloudless,  the  air  pure  and  bracing,  and 
they  coursed  the  smooth  prairies  at  a  rapid  rate. 
Yet  to  Tom's  anxious  heart  the  moments  seemed 
long  ;  and  when  they  stopped  at  noon  for  refresh 
ment,  and  to  bait  the  horses,  Tom  could  scarcely 


A   BELEAGUERED    CABIN.  217 

brook  the  delay.  He  was  really  on  his  way  with 
a  brave  band  for  the  rescue.  The  thought  of 
this  was  joyful  to  him,  yet  he  was  afraid  that  they 
might  arrive  too  late  ;  and  as  the  soldiers  lay  upon 
the  grass  eating  their  rations,  Captain  Manly, 
reading  his  feelings,  said  to  him,  — 

"  Be  patient,  my  dear  boy ;  be  patient.  The 
old  saying,  'Prayer  and  provender  hinder  no 
man's  journey,'  is  as  true  in  war  as  in  peace." 

He  was  a  Christian  soldier,  and  he  added,  — 

w  We  must  pray,  Tom,  that  God  will  prosper  us. 
By  this  bit  of  rest  the  men  and  horses  will  be  all 
the  better  for  service  when  we  catch  up  with  the 
savages ;  and  if  God  shall  so  order  it,  we  will 
save  such  of  the  poor  settlers  as  have  escaped 
from  massacre." 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  they  drew 
near  one  of  the  settlements  that  lay  in  their  path. 
Scouts  were  sent  ahead  to  see  if  any  Indians 
were  lurking  in  the  vicinity.  They,  reported  that 
none  were  to  be  seen,  but  that  the  village  had 
been  totally  destroyed.  Putting  spurs  to  their 
horses,  the  eager  soldiers  were  soon  on  the  ground. 

The  air  was  still  heavy  with  the  smell  of  the 
burning,  and  as  they  passed  along  they  saw  that 
every  cabin  had  been  consumed.  It  was  a  scene 
of  utter  desolation.  The  horses'  feet  splashed  in 
pools  of  clotted  blood,  while  ever  and  anon  they 
came  to  the  mutilated  remains  of  some  victim  of 


2l8  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

the  massacre.  In  one  place  lay  the  form  of  a 
brawny  pioneer,  his  broken  rifle  still  clutched  by 
the  muzzle,  while  the  ground  around  him  was 
torn  up  by  the  mighty  struggle  he  had  made  with 
his  assailants.  Here  young  children  had  been 
murdered  by  being  dashed  against  a  tree.  To 
an  oak  near  by  a  woman  had  been  nailed  while 
yet  alive.  All  the  corpses  were  horribly  mangled 
and  disfigured,  indignities  the  most  fiendish  being 
heaped  upon  them.  Their  ears  and  noses  were 
cut  off,  sticks  were  thrust  into  their  eyes,  and 
their  mouths  were  filled  with  filth. 

These  awful  sights  wrought  up  the  soldiers  to 
frenzy.  Tom's  passions  rose  also ;  but  he  was 
startled  by  the  deadly  paleness  that  sat  upon  the 
countenances  of  the  others,  so  expressive  of  in 
tensified  hate  and  desire  for  revenge.  But  the 
scouts  again  appeared,  and  reported  a  large  force 
of  Indians  encamped  before  a  log  house  a  few 
miles  farther  jon ;  and  Captain  Manly  decided 
to  strike  for  a  piece  of  woods  to  the  right  of  the 
savages.  When  the  woods  were  reached,  it  was 
discovered  that  all  the  dwellings  on  either  side  of 
the  besieged  cabin,  comprising  three  promising 
young  villages,  had  been  swept  away.  Cau 
tiously  the  little  company  pushed  on  to  the  scene 
of  action.  Before  the  lone  cabin  were  assembled 
hundreds  of  Indians,  engaged  in  some  savage 
ceremony. 


A   BELEAGUERED    CABIN.  2 19 

"  They  have  taken  a  captive,"  whispered  Cap 
tain  Manly,  "and  have  brought  him  near  the 
cabin  to  tantalize  the  inmates,  hoping  to  induce 
them  to  make  a  sortie  for  the  rescue  of  the  pris 
oner." 

"  It  is  Long  Hair ! "  replied  Tom,  wild  with 
excitement. 

"  Be  quiet,  be  quiet,  my  boy,"  replied  the  cap 
tain  ;  "  we'll  be  in  their  long  hair  before  they  get 
his,  if  they  don't  look  sharp." 

Then  dividing  his  force  into  four  companies  of 
ten  men  each,  and  directing  them  to  crawl  care 
fully  through  the  long  grass  to  the  points  he  desig 
nated  near  the  foe,  he  instructed  each  man  to  be 
sure  of  his  aim,  and  fire  when  the  captain's  di 
vision  fired.  The  Indians  had  been  so  successful 
in  their  attacks  on  the  settlements  thus  far,  and 
so  unmolested  in  their  barbarities,  that  they  were 
now  completely  off  their  guard,  which  enabled 
the  whites  to  get  close  to  them  unobserved. 

Tom's  eyes  were  fastened  upon  Long  Hair. 
The  faithful  Indian's  handsome  face  betrayed  no 
fear,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  had  given  up  all 
hopes  of  deliverance.  With  eagle  eye  he  watched 
the  ceremonies,  and,  as  he  saw  them  approach 
their  fatal  termination,  began  to  chant  his  death- 
song.  Captain  Manly  understood  Indian  cus 
toms,  and  telling  certain  of  his  men  to  make  sure 
of  the  savages  nearest  Long  Hair,  he  gave  the 


220  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

signal,  and  the  bullets  of  the  ten  unerring  marks 
men  mowing  them  down,  firing  from  the  other 
detachments  following  with  deadly  effect. 

The  panic  of  the  Indians  was  indescribable ; 
for  the  firing  from  so  extended  a  line  gave  the 
impression  of  a  much  larger  force  than  had  really 
attacked  them.  Their  confusion  was  increased 
also  at  seeing  some  soldiers  issue  from  the  woods, 
mounted ;  for  the  captain  had  given  orders,  in 
case  there  was  a  panic,  for  a  portion  of  the 
command  quietly  and  quickly  to  take  to  their 
horses  and  pursue  the  fugitives.  Thinking  them 
selves  attacked  by  superior  numbers  of  both 
cavalry  and  infantry,  the  Indians  were  at  the 
mercy  of  the  soldiers,  who  shot  and  sabred  them 
with  small  opposition. 

As  soon  as  Captain  Manly  saw  the  effect  of 
the  first  volley,  he  said  to  Tom,  — 

"  I  shall  leave  Long  Hair  in  your  charge." 

For  with  delicate  magnanimity  he  would  have 
Tom  be  the  deliverer  of  the  noble  Indian  who 
had  perilled  his  life  for  Tom. 

The  lad  needed  no  second  hint,  but  sprang 
away,  and  severed  the  thongs  that  bound  his  In 
dian  friend  to  the  death-stake. 

"  Ugh !  Tom  good  friend ;  big  soldier-boy," 
ejaculated  the  grateful  Indian. 

"Are  father  and  mother  safe?"  asked  Tom. 

"  In  cabin  there,"  replied  Long  Hair. 


A    BELEAGUERED    CABIN.  221 

Tom  hurried  forward  towards  the  dwelling, 
but  Long  Hair  seized  him,  saying, — 

"  Maybe  they  think  you  Injun  ;  shoot  you  !  "  for 
his  keen  eye  had  caught  sight  of  the  muzzle  of  a 
gun  pointing  at  them  from  out  an  aperture  in  the 
building.  "White  chief  come  soon,""  he  imme 
diately  added.  "  They  no  fire  at  you ;  see,  gun 
gone." 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  these  words,  when  the 
outer  door  opened,  and  Tom  saw  his  mother 
standing  there,  for  she  had  discerned  him  in  the 
deepening  twilight,  and  recognized  him  as  her 
son.  Tom,  with  a  bound,  hastened  to  her,  and 
as  she  folded  him  in  her  arms,  and  tenderly  kissed 
him,  he  inquired, —  -  '\- 

"But  where  is  father?" 

"  Speak  softly,"  she  replied,  as  she  led  the  way 
to  a  bed  in  a  corner  of  the  inner  building,  on 
which  lay  Mr.  Jones.  "He  is  wounded,"  said 
she,  mournfully,  "  and  is  sleeping  now.  We  can 
not  yet  tell  how  it  will  turn  with  him,  but  hope 
for  the  best." 

"But  where  are  the  other  men?"  asked  Tom, 
weeping,  for  only  a  few  women  and  children 
we.re  in  sight. 

"  They  deserted  us  night  before  last.  Our  pro 
visions  had  run  low,  and  the  savages  had  retired 
'.to  make  us  think  they  had  left,  and  the  men,  half 
crazed  with  sleepless  nights  and  scanty  food, 


222  THE    CABIN   ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

were  deluded  by  the  idea  that  they  might  get 
safely  away,  and  perhaps  bring  us  aid.  But, 
poor  things,  they  were  not  themselves,  and  they 
had  gone  only  a  few  rods,  when  they  were  set 
upon  by  the  savages,  and  brutally  slaughtered 
before  our  eyes.  We  used  our  guns  on  the  In 
dians  as  well  as  we  could,  but  found  it  difficult 
to  prevent  them  from  scaling  the  building." 

"Did  you  fire  upon  them?"  asked  Tom,  won- 
deringly. 

"Yes,  my  son,"  said  she,  gently;  "and  last 
night,  knowing  how  feeble  our  force  must  be, 
they  were  emboldened  to  attempt  to  burn  the 
house.  The  roof  caught  in  several  places,  and 
your  father  went  up  and  put  out  the  fire  at  the 
risk  of  his  life.  It  was  then  that  he  was  shot. 
He  had  been  our  main  defence  from  the  first,  for 
the  Indians  were  more  afraid  of  his  rifle  than  a 
dozen  of  others."  / 

"  But  how  did  you  get  along  after  father  was 
disabled?" 

"We  women  loaded,  watched,  and  fired  by 
turns.  I  do  not  see  how  we  could  have  held  out 
an  hour  longer.  Help  came  just  in  time." 

"  But  where  are  all  the  children,"  inquired  Tom, 
forebodingly. 

Mrs.  Jones  gave  a  low  moan,  as  if  her  heart 
would  break,  but,  with  wonderful  self-command, 
suppressed  all  other  manifestations  of  emotion, 


A   BELEAGUERED    CABIN.  22J 

and  said,  lovingly,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoul 
der,  — 

"My  son,  we  are  a  broken  family;  we  shall 
never  all  meet  again  on  earth.  Charlie  disap 
peared  at  the  first  attack.  I  did  not  see  him 
killed ;  and  you  know  what  a  quick,  active  boy 
he  is,  and  he  may  have  escaped,  although  the 
chances  were  fearfully  against  him.  Sarah  was 
overtaken  by  an  Indian,  and  tomahawked  while 
flying  home  from  the  store." 

"And  Bub?"  sobbed  Tom. 

"  That  was  one  of  the  cruelest  of  the  cruelties 
connected  with  the  outbreak.  There  was  an  In 
dian  who  made  great  professions  of  friendship, 
visiting  our  cabin  almost  daily.  You  saw  him, 
Tom,  when  you  visited  us.  We  treated  him  very 
kindly,  and  made  him  many  presents.  He 
seemed  to  have  a  particular  liking  to  Bub,  and 
Bub  was  fond  of  him,  and  would  always  run  to 
meet  him  when  he  saw  him  coming.  The  day 
of  the  fatal  attack,  he  made  his  appearance  as 
usual,  and  Bub,  with  an  exclamation  of  joy,  has 
tened  to  be  the  first  to  greet  him,  when,  as  the 
child  drew  laughingly  near,  the  treacherous 
savage  raised  his  rifle,  and  shot  him  through  the 
head.  This  was  the  signal  for  the  assault.  Sarah 
was  standing  at  the  time  in  the  store  door  oppo 
site,  and,  seeing  the  murder,  started  for  the  house, 
her  face  terribly  pale  with  fright.  So  terrified 


224  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

was  she  that  it  seemed  as  if  she  flew  rather  than 
ran ;  but  the  same  savage  swiftly  pursued  her, 
and,  being  nearer  the  house  than  she,  struck  her 
down  with  his  tomahawk.  But  Robert  has  been 
left  to  us,  and  a  brave,  good  boy  has  he  been." 

Tom  was  so  absorbed  that  he  had  not  noticed 
the  quiet  entrance  of  Captain  Manly  and  others 
of  the  command,  who,  seated  or  standing  around 
the  room,  listened  intently  to  his  mother's  account 
of  the  massacre.  As  she  concluded,  the  captain 
said,  — 

"I  had  taken  the  precaution,  madam,  to  bring 
the  surgeon  along  with  me ;  and  if  you  desire  it, 
he  will  examine  your  husband's  wounds,  and  see 
what  is  best  to  be  done  for  him." 

At  which  the  doctor  stepped  forward  and  pro 
ceeded  to  probe  and  dress  the  wound. 

"It  is  an  ugly  hurt,"  remarked  the  surgeon, 
"but  by  good  care  and  nursing  he  may  rally." 

"Just  what  are  impossible,"  answered  the  cap 
tain,  "  in  this  place.  Would  it  do  to  remove  him, 
doctor?" 

"  If  a  good  litter  was  prepared,"  was  the  reply, 
"there  would  be  less  risk  in  doing  so  than  in 
leaving  him  in  this  wretched  hole." 

"  Particularly,"  added  the  captain,  "  as  the  red 
skins  would  be  sure  to  come  back  to  finish  their 
fiendish  work.  And  I  would  propose,  madam, 
that,  after  my  men  have  taken  a  little  rest,  we 


A    BELEAGUERED    CABIN.  225 

remove  you  an4  your  family  at  once  to  the  fort, 
where  you  shall  receive  the  best  of  attention,  and 
everything  be  done  for  your  husband  that  skill 
and  medicine  and  needful  comforts  can  do  for  his 
recovery." 

Mrs.  Jones  glanced  at  the  ghastly  wound  of 
her  husband. 

"  I  understand  your  feelings,"  said  the  captain, 
kindly ;  "  but  you  have  shown  that  you  are  a  brave 
woman,  ever  ready  to  do  what  is  for  the  best. 
Now,  the  Indians  to-night  were  some  three  or  four 
hundred  strong  ;  and,  panic-stricken  as  they  were, 
some  of  them  must  have  discovered  that  I  have 
but  a  handful  of  men.  They  will  return  in  larger 
force,  thirsting  for  revenge.  It  is  therefore  indis 
pensable  that  we  take  Mr.  Jones  with  us.  It  is 
all  we  can  do  under  the  circumstances." 

Mrs.  Jones  saw  the  propriety  of  this,  and  grate 
fully  assented  to  the  captain's  plan,  and  at  the 
hour  appointed  —  all  the  preparations  having 
been  efficiently  made  —  the  wounded  man  was 
carefully  placed  upon  the  nicely-constructed  litter, 
the  women  and  children  taken  upon  the  soldiers' 
horses,  and  the  little  cavalcade  moved  noiselessly 
out  on  the  star-lighted  prairie. 
15 


226  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE    MYSTERIOUS    FIRE. 

FEW  words  were  spoken,  as  the  handful  of 
brave  men,  with  the  rescued  women  and  chil 
dren,  and  the  suffering  squatter  moved  on.  Ex 
perienced,  scouts  were  thrown  out  on  either  hand, 
to  give  notice  of  danger,  for  at  any  moment  the 
wily  foe  might  spring  upon  them. 

"Where  can  Long  Hair  be?"  whispered  Tom 
to  his  mother. 

"  I  cannot  imagine,"  she  answered  ;  "  he  left 
the  cabin  as  I  was  telling  you  about  the  loss  of 
the  children  through  the  treachery  of  Yellow 
Bank.  His  eyes  glared  while  I  was  speaking, 
and  there  was  a  look  on  his  face  that  I  could  not 
interpret.  Do  you  suppose  he  is  trusty  ?  " 

"  Trusty  !  "  echoed  Tom  ;  "  why,  mother,  he 
perilled  his  life  for  us." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,  child ;  he  is  unlike  any  In 
dian  I  ever  saw.  But  why  did  he  leave  so  mys 
teriously  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Tom.  "  Captain  Man 
ly  tried  to  find  him ;  he  wished  to  present  him  to 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    FIRE.  227 

General  McElroy.  He  said  he  did  not  doubt 
that  government  would  reward  Long  Hair  for 
his  services." 

"Well,"  sighed  his  mother,  shuddering  as  she 
spoke,  "  how  different  these  Indians  are  from  us  ! 
They  come  and  go  so  noiselessly,  and  talk  so 
little!  But  what  is  that?"  she  exclaimed,  glan 
cing  back. 

"What?"  inquired  Tom. 

"Why,  that  light," --pointing  in  the  direction 
from  which  they  came.  -And  Tom  saw  against 
the  dark  woods,  for  a  background,  thick  flying 
sparks  from  the  cabin  chimney  made  themselves 
visible  for  miles  across  the  prairie. 

A  scout  now  rode  up,  to  call  the  attention  of 
the  captain  to  the  same  appearance. 

"I  cannot  comprehend  it!"  ejaculated  that 
officer,  putting  his  glass  to  his  eyes.  "It  is 
clear  that  the  cabin  is  not  on  fire.  It  seems  to 
be  occupied."  And,  riding  up  to  Mrs.  Jones, 
he  said,  "Madam,  can  you  tell  me  if  there  was 
any  fuel  in  the  fireplace  when  we  left?" 
*  There  was  not,"  was  the  decided  reply. 
"  But  there  is  a  large  fire  burning  on  the  hearth 
.now ;  how  do  you  account  for  that  ?  It's  a  trick 
of  the  savages,"  he  muttered,  as  he  put  spurs  to 
his  steed  ;  "  and  yet,"  he  added,  "  it  is  not  like  the 
Indians  to  go  into  a  house  and  make  a  fire.  If 
they  had  discovered  our  retreat,  they  would  be 


228  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

too  cunning  thus  to  let  us  know  that  they  had 
found  it  out ;  we  should  see  them  prowling  around 
as  stealthily  as  so  many  panthers.  Somebody's 
alive  and  stirring  there  ;  who  can  it  be?  " 

The  singular  incident  served  to  heighten  the 
anxiety  of  all,  and  stimulate  the  soldiers  to  make 
as  good  progress  as  they  could  without  too 
greatly  distressing  the  wounded  man.  Several 
times,  in  the  dim  light,  the  groaning  and  pallor 
of  her  husband  led  Mrs.  Jones  to  fear  he  was 
dying,  and,  with  Tom  and  Robert,  she  watched 
every  change  in  his  appearance,  tenderly  min 
istering  to  him.  Fresh  relays  of  men  took  the 
places  of  those  who  bore  him,  taking  their  turn 
at  the  litter  with  alacrity,  for  Tom's  dutiful  and 
heroic  conduct,  and  the  mother's  loving  gentle 
ness  and  patient  endurance,  and  the  squatter's 
stubborn  defence  of  the  lone  cabin  against  such 
odds,  had  won  the  hearts "  of  the  soldiers,  and 
they  had  resolved  to  see  the  family  safe  within 
the  walls  of  the  fortress,  or,  if  attacked  on  the 
prairie,  to  defend  them  to  the  death. 

"  How  did  it  happen,"  asked  Captain  Manly, 
in  a  low  voice,  of  the  mother,  "that  your  cabin 
was  enclosed  with  those  walls  of  heavy  logs. 
Were  you  expecting  an  attack?" 

"  Long  Hair  gave  us  warning,"  she  replied ; 
"  and  husband  persuaded  the  settlers  to  cut  down 
trees  and  build  the  walls." 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    FIRE. 

w  And  your  husband  directed  the  defence  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  and  he  made  a  sortie,  and 
rescued  a  number  of  neighbors,  who  would  other 
wise  have  been  murdered,  —  the  very  persons 
who  afterwards  deserted  in  the  night,  leaving, 
in  their  haste,  the  outer  door  wide  open.  We 
should  all  have  been  sacrificed  before  morning, 
had  we  not  been  startled  at  seeing  Long  Hair 
standing  in  the  cabin.  How  he  got  in  undis 
covered  through  so  many  enemies,  and  notified 
us  of  our  danger  in  so  timely  a  manner,  we  could 
not  conjecture.  Husband  secured  the  door  again, 
and  Long  Hair  vanished  as  he  came,  saying, 
'Long  Hair  go  quick,  get  sojer,  come  right  back 
bimeby,  quick  ! '  that  was,  I  suppose,  when  he 
came  to  the  fort,  as  Tom  told  us  about,  and  not 
succeeding  in  his  errand,  hurried  to  find  Tom, 
to  intercede  with  you  for  us." 

"  You  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it,"  said  the 
captain,  "  and  your  husband  stood  a  siege  before 
which  a  well-manned  "fort  might  have  fallen.  I 
only  hope  that  the  brave  fellow  '11  get  well,  and 
enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  noble  conduct.  If  I  had  a 
few  hundred  men  like  him,  I  could  sweep  the 
red-skins  from  the  soil." 

But  the  jarring,  and  the  motion,  and  the  pain 
were  proving  too  much  for  the  wounded  pioneer, 
and  delirium  setting  in,  he  began  to  rave,  speak 
ing,  however,  slowly  and  distinctly,  and  without 


230  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

a  tinge  of  the  squatter  dialect,  but  in  the  purer 
English  of  his  early  days. 

"  There  !  "  he  exclaimed,  pointing  his  finger, 
"you've  come  again.  I  knew  you  would  not  let 
me  rest." 

"  He's  thinking  of  the  Indians,"  remarked  the 
captain,  sorrowfully  ;  "the  confounded  red-skins  !" 

"  I  told  you  he  stole  it  all.  Will  you  harass 
me  into  my  grave?  A  set  of  vampires,  sucking 
the  life-blood  of  an  honest  man  !  " 

"  Now  he  wanders,"  said  the  captain ;  and, 
sending  for  the  surgeon,  the  latter  opened  his 
medicine  case,  and,  lighting  a  match  to  read  the 
labels  on  his  vials,  administered  an  opiate,  and 
the  sufferer  sank  into  a  troubled  stupor. 

"Ah!"  whispered  the  mother  to  Tom,  "it  is 
not  the  savages  that  disturb  his  mind  so ;  it's  the 
old  agony  of  a  wounded  spirit." 

About  noon,  the  next  day,  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  fort.  How  welcome  the  frowning  walls  to 
the  weary  women  and  children  !  How  sublime 
seemed  the  national  flag,  floating  proudly  on  the 
breeze,  symbol  of  a  united  sovereignty  of  states, 
powerful  to  protect  its  citizens  on  the  ocean  and 
the  land,  in  the  teeming  city,  and  in  the  wilds 
of  the  wilderness  ! 

General  McElroy  received  the  settlers  in  the 
kindest  manner,  causing  them  to  feel  at  once  that 
they  were  among  friends.  Airy,  quiet  apart- 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    FIRE.  23! 

ments  were  assigned  to  the  wounded  man  and 
his  household,  and  the  ladies  of  the  garrison  vied 
with  each  other  in  their  attentions  to  him  and  his 
stricken  family.  Often  would  Mrs.  McElroy 
come  in  and  sit  by  Mr.  Jones,  that  his  wife  might 
get  some  rest.  With  her  and  her  husband  Tom 
had  become  a  great  favorite,  and  they  entertained 
a  high  respect  for  the  mother. 

The  squatter's  life  in  the  open  air,  roaming  the 
prairies,  tended  to  build  up  for  him  a  healthy 
physical  organization,  favorable  to  the  healing  of 
the  wound;  and  as  this  progressed,  the  doctor 
marvelled  that  he  did  not  get  stronger.  He  was 
strangely  liable  to  delirious  attacks,  and  opiates 
gradually  lost  their  influence  over  him. 

One  day  the  surgeon  entered  as  his  patient, 
wildly  raving,  was  exclaiming,  with  great  vehe 
mence, — 

"  I  tell  you,  again,  that  I  'have  nothing  to  pay 
with,  and  you  will  give  me  no  chance  to  earn. 
O,  what  a  load  to  carry!  Debt!  debt!  debt! 
Shall  I  never  find  rest?"  Then,  in  a  moment 
more,  his  thoughts  relapsing  to  another  subject, 
he  murmured,  "What  did  the  preacher  say? 
'Come  —  unto  —  me  —  and  I  will  —  give  you 
rest;'  yes,  that  is  what  I  want.  O,  if  only  I 
could  come  ! " 

The  surgeon  watched  him  through  the  deliri 
um,  and  said, — 


232  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"Madam,  it  is  not  the  bullet  of  the  savage 
that's  killing  your  husband,  but  some  more  deadly 
sore.  He  needs  medicine  for  the  mind,  rather 
than  the  body ;  and  when  he  is  himself,  you 
had  better  call  in  the  chaplain  to  converse  with 
him." 

An  hour  later,  when  Mr.  Jones  had  an  easy 
interval,  she  gently  said,  — 

"  Husband,  you  are  very  sick.  Don't  you 
think  it  might  do  you  good  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  the  minister?" 

"  Minister  !  "  he  feebly  answered  ;  "  what  min 
ister?" 

"  The  minister  that  belongs  to  the  fort." 

"I  don't  know  him,"  replied  the  sick  man, 
suspiciously.  "But  there  is  one  minister  that  I 
do  know,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"Who?"  she  inquired. 

"  Why,  him  !  "  he  answered,  impatiently,  as  if 
he  thought  she  ought  to  understand. 

"  You  mean  the  missionary,"  she  returned. 

"Yes  ;  if  I  could  talk  with  him,  I  would  like  to." 

The  wife  mentioned  his  remarks  to  the  sur 
geon,  and  General  McElroy  sent  for  the  mis 
sionary. 

It  was  evening,  of  a  lowering,  rainy  day,  when 
the  messenger  returned  with  Mr.  Pay  son.  It  had 
been  drizzling  and  dripping  all  day,  but  towards 
night  the  clouds  grew  black  and  wild,  and  a 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    FIRE.  233 

furious  wind  dashed  the  big  rain-drops  violently 
against  the  window.  The  air  was  raw,  and 
seemed  to  pierce  to  the  bones.  The  old  fort 
buildings  were  delightful  in  fair  weather,  but 
now  were  damp  and  chilly.  Mrs.  Jones  feared 
for  the  effect  of  the  storm  on  her  husband,  whose 
frame,  since  his  wound,  had  been  extremely  sen 
sitive  to  atmospheric  changes  ;  and  dreading  that, 
if  he  was  disturbed,  he  would  relapse  into  delir 
ium,  she  concluded  not  to  invite  the  missionary 
in  to  see  him  until  morning.  She  had  disposed 
everything  as  comfortably  as  possible  about  the 
bed,  and  had  a  nourishing  broth  and  his  medi 
cines  handy,  when  Mrs.  McElroy  entered,  and 
said,  — 

"You  look  worn  out.  Go  and  take  a  nap 
now,  and  if  you  are  needed  I  will  call  you. 
You  know  the  missionary  is  here,  and  will  wish 
to  be  with  him  in  the  morning ;  and  it  is  desira 
ble  that  you  should  feel  as  well  as  you  can,  to 
encourage  your  husband." 

Mrs.  Jones,  thus  charged,  retired  to  an  adjoin 
ing  room,  thinking  to  rest  herself  for  a  short 
time,  and  then  return.  She  felt  that  a  great  event 
was  impending,  and  thought  it  impossible  for  her 
to  close  her  eyes;  but  so  utterly  exhausted  was 
she,  that  she  immediately  fell  into  a  sound  sleep, 
from  which  she  was  awakened  at  midnight  by 
Mrs.  McElroy,  who  said,  — 


234  THE    CABJN    °N   THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  A  great  change  has  come  over  your  hus 
band.  I  think  he  is  going  to  get  well.  He 
wants  to  see  you  and  the  boys." 

Hurrying  to  her  husband's  side,  she  found  him 
sitting  up  in  bed  as  composedly  as  if  no  trouble 
had  ever  disturbed  the  serenity  of  his  mind,  look 
ing  much  as  he  did  in  their  bridal  hour.  He 
had  called  for  a  bowl  of  water  and  a  towel,  and 
was  calmly  washing  himself.  Bestowing  on  her 
a  loving  look  as  she  entered,  he  asked,  — 

"  Mary,  dear,  has  the  missionary  come?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

"  Can  I  see  him  now  ?  " 

Mrs.  McElroy  took  out  her  watch,  and  said, 
pleasantly,  — 

"Are  you  particular  about  seeing  him  now?  I 
suppose  you  are  not  aware  how  late  it  is." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "it  is  twelve  o'clock;" 
and  his  eye  shone  with  a  strange  intelligence. 
"  I  should  have  sent  for  him  a  year  ago,  had  not 
my  heart  been  so  proud  and  bitter.  But  I  know 
him.  He'll  come  now,  if  it  is  late." 

There  was  something  unearthly  in  his  manner, 
and  Mrs.  McElroy  said,  rising,  — 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  request." 

As  Mr.  Payson  entered,  the  sick  man  extended 
his  hand,  saying,  — 

"  I'm  almost  through,   my  friend.      I've   had 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    FIRE.  235 

some  sore  trials  in  life,  —  not  so  much  on  my 
own  account  as  because  of  those  who  were  too 
dear  to  me.  We  were  cruelly  wronged,  and  I 
have  not  been  quite  right  here,"- -placing  his 
hand  upon  his  forehead,  —  "and  what  has  made 
it  worse,  I  have  been  all  wrong  here,"  —  laying 
his  hand  upon  his  heart.  "  I  have  doubted  every 
body,  and  distrusted  my  God.  I  have  been  hard 
and  scornful,  and  hated  my  fellows ;  but  it  is 
different  with  me  now.  I  have  heard  that  voice 
speaking  to  me,  that  you  told  us  of  in  the  little 
cabin.  He  has  said  unto  me,  even  me,  'Come,' 
and  he  has  given  me  'rest.'  I  have  had  a  long, 
long  struggle,  but  the  conflict  is  over.  Ah,  He 
is  so  different  from  human  creditors !  I  have 
been  a  poor  debtor,  chased,  hunted,  oppressed, 
goaded  almost  to  insanity,  and  none  took  pity  on 
me,  because  I  owed  them  a  few  paltry  dollars, 
which  I  had  the  heart  to  pay,  but,  through  the 
robberies  of  another,  and  their  oppressions,  could 
not.  But  what  a  debt  I  owed  my  Savior  !  Yet, 
without  a  word  of  reproach,  he  has  forgiven 
me  all!" 

This  was  spoken  with  a  wondrous  energy  and 
clearness  of  voice ;  but  a  deathly  paleness  be 
gan  to  overspread  his  face ;  partial  delirium  su 
pervened,  not  raging,  as  before,  but  his  features 
lighted  up  the  while  with  a  smile  of  heavenly 


236  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

beauty,  and  repeating    again,  his  voice  sinking 
to  a  whisper,  — 

w  What  did  the  preacher  say  ?  '  Come  unto 
me,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  Rest !  Rest !  It 
is  mine."  His  spirit  was  gone. 


THE    BOY    IN    THE    TREE.  237 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE    BOY    IN   THE    TREE. 

CHARLIE  was  a  boy  who  naturally  loved  ad 
venture.  He  was  excitable,  and  yet  had  a  re 
served  power,  which,  in  great  emergencies,  made 
him  cool  and  brave.  He  was  fertile  in  expedi 
ents,  and,  when  aroused,  experienced  a  rollicking 
enjoyment  in  danger.  In  the  little  settlement  he 
came  across  an  old  copy  of  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and,  charmed  with  its  romantic  descriptions,  con 
ceived  the  idea  of  becoming  another  Crusoe. 
But  there  was  a  serious  obstacle  in  his  way.  He 
could  not  convert  a  prairie  into  an  ocean,  and  get 
shipwrecked.  Yet  if  he  lacked  salt  water,  there 
was  many  a  man  Friday  at  hand,  - — for  he  men 
tally  promoted  every  friendly  Indian  to  that  office, 
—  and  there  were  plenty  of  cannibals  in  the  shape 
of  disaffected  Indians  who  were  already  threat 
ening  the  settlements  with  depredation  and  car 
nage.  Now,  Charlie,  to  enjoy  his  book  under 
congenial  circumstances,  and  where  he  would  not 
be  interrupted  by  his  mother  saying,  "Charlie, 
bring  some  wood,"  and  "  Charlie,  get  some  water," 


238  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

and  the  various  et-ceteras  of  domestic  duty  to 
which  boys  of  his  age  and  active  habits  are  lia 
ble,  looked  about  for  some  safe  retreat,  and 
chanced  to  find,  one  day,  in  the  woods  near  at 
hand,  a  large,  hollow  tree.  Many  a  time  had  he 
passed  it,  and  not  discovered  the  welcome  fact. 
The  entrance  was  effectually  concealed  by  a 
tangled  clump  of  bushes.  Had  they  taken  it 
specially  in  hand  to  grow  in  such  a  way  as  to 
hide  the  hole  in  the  tree,  they  could  not  have  done 
it  more  thoroughly ;  and  nobody  but  a  prying 
young  Crusoe  of  Charlie's  qualifications  would 
have  spied  out  the  entrance.  Having  discovered 
it,  he  would  creep  slyly  in,  and,  by  means  of 
the  light  let  in  through  a  hole  higher  up  in  the 
trunk,  would  pore  over  the  haps  and  mishaps  of 
the  Juan  Fernandez  hero,  and  imitate  his  achieve 
ments  as  well  as  he  could. 

It  got  to  be  a  great  mystery  what  became  of 
Charlie  through  the  long  hours  of  the  day.  He 
could  hear  and  see  much  of  what  passed  around 
him,  and,  with  imperturbable  gravity,  would  sit 
in  his  sly  retreat,  making  no  answer,  while  his 
mother  would  come  to  the  cabin  door,  and  call, 
in  silvery  treble, — 

"Charlie!  Charlie!  Where  are  you,  Char 
lie?" 

And  then,  in  turn,  the  father  would  make  his 
appearance,  and  shout,  in  masculine  bass,  — 


THE    BOY    IN   THE    TREE.  239 

"Charlie,  Charlie,  your  mother  wants  yer. 
Why  don't  you  come  ?  " 

After  a  while  Sarah  would  be  despatched  to 
search  for  him,  and  her  girlish  voice  would  re 
peat  the  parents'  calls  as  she  looked  everywhere 
in  vain. 

Then,  when  he  returned  to  the  house,  to  the 
accustomed  inquiry,  "  Why,  where  have  you 
been?  We've  been  calling  you,  and  hunting 
everywhere  for  you,"  he  would  reply,  with  the 
utmost  nonchalance,  "O,  only  out  here;"  at 
which  Sarah  would  retort,  impatiently,  "  I  know 
better  than  that;  for  I  hunted  all  round  for  you, 
and  you  wasn't  anywhere  to  be  seen  ;  "  and  Char 
lie  respond,  with  compassionate  condescension, 
"  Pooh  !  girls  are  great  at  hunting  !  " 

Now,  it  was  very  wrong  in  Charlie  to  be  so 
dumb  when  his  parents  wanted  him,  and  to  cause 
them  so  much  concern  by  his  unexplained  ab 
sence-;  but  he  justified  it  to  his  own  conscience 
on  the  ground  that  it  was  in  keeping  with  his 
character  as  second  Crusoe.  Robinson  Crusoe, 
in  his  estimation,  was  the  greatest  and  most  glo 
rious  man  that  ever  lived.  Charlie  had  taken 
him  for  his  model  in  life  ;  and  it  would  derogate 
from  the  dignity  of  his  position,  while  enacting 
the  man  Crusoe,  —  "  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed," 
—  to  obey  as  the  child  Charlie.  He  was  willing, 
when  in  the  house,  to  do  what  was  expected  of 


240  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

him,  as  a  boy  under  subjection ;  but  when  he  was 
in  his  Crusoe  cave,  alias  the  hollow  tree,  he  was 
altogether  another  person ;  and  he  reasoned,  in 
order  to  have  things  in  harmony,  he  must  act 
accordingly.  .  %  J 

Charlie,  by  some  means,  had  come  into  posses 
sion  of  a  horse  pistol,  considerably  out  of  order, 
it  is  true ;  but  it  served  to  fill  the  place  of  one  of 
the  two  pistols  Robinson  Crusoe  found  on  board 
the  Spanish  ship.  He  was  in  daily  expectation 
of  finding  another ;  but  needing  ammunition  to 
store  up  against  a  coming  fray  with  the  canni 
bals  on  the  shore,  he  helped  himself  frequently 
to  the  contents  of  his  father's  powder-horn  and 
bullet-pouch. 

"What  under  the  canopy  makes  my  powder 
go  so  fast?  "  his  father  often  exclaimed,  as  he  re 
plenished  the  mysteriously-wasting  stock.  The 
lad  also  begged  ammunition  of  the  free-hearted 
settlers,  and  by  these  means  he  laid  up  a  surpris 
ingly  large  amount  of  warlike  munitions,  kept 
securely  in  an  old  skin  bag.  He  had  also  dried 
venison  stowed  away,  and  a  good  store  of  nuts, 
with  pop-corn  for  parching,  and  potatoes  for  roast 
ing —  all  against  some  coming  time  of  need. 

Now,  it  chanced  that  Charlie's  tree-cave  turned 
to  good  account,  as  it  saved  his  curly  scalp ;  for 
the  afternoon  of  the  Indian  outbreak,  —  with  one 
eye  on  the  Crusoe  history,  and  the  other  watching 


THE    BOY    IN    THE    TREE.  24! 

to  see  if  any  cannibals  landed  on  the  shore,  tak 
ing  an  occasional  sip  from  an  old  coffee-pot 
filled  with  spring  water,  which  he  called  goat's 
milk, —  the  whole  frightful  scene  of  the  massa 
cre  passed  before  him.  He  saw  dear  little  Bub 
run  to  meet  Yellow  Bank,  and  he  also  saw  what 
his  mother  did  not  in  the  panic,  that,  just  as  the 
treacherous  savage  fired,  the  little  fellow  tripped 
and  fell,  unharmed  by  the  bullet.  He  saw,  at 
that  instant,  his  sister  Sarah  start  from  the  store 
for  the  cabin,  and  that  the  fiendish  savage  did  not 
notice  Bub's  escape,  in  his  eagerness  to  intercept 
the  girl ;  so  that  Bub,  terrified  by  the  report  of 
the  gun,  and  at  seeing  his  sister  struck  down 
by  Yellow  Bank,  dragged  himself  off  in  the  di 
rection  of  Charlie's  tree,  not  seeming  to  know 
but  that  he  was  going  towards  the  cabin. 

He  saw  the  door  of  the  cabin  closed,  and  that 
preparations  were  made  to  keep  out  the  savages, 
and  that  the  whole  attention  of  the  Indians  was 
turned  on  assaulting  the  house.  So,  cautiously 
creeping  out,  and  placing  one  hand  firmly  over 
Bub's  mouth  to  prevent  him  from  making  a 
sound,  he  drew  him  into  the  tree.  He  was  fully 
aware  that  he  did  this  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life ; 
for  if  the  child  made  an  outcry,  their  hiding-place 
would  be  discovered,  and  they  would  both  be 
sacrificed.  But  he  had  too  loving  and  noble  a 
16 


242  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

nature  to  save  his  own  life  by  leaving  his  darling 
pet  brother  exposed. 

Charlie  found  it  a  difficult  task  to  control  him 
self  sufficiently  in  the  scenes  that  were  passing 
before  him  to  keep  guard  over  Bub  each  instant, 
as  he  must,  to  prevent  him  from  revealing  their 
place  of  refuge.  The  little  fellow  had  received 
a  terrible  fright,  and  at  first  struggled  with  sin^ 
gular  strength  to  free  himself  from  Charlie's 
grasp,  and  Charlie's  arms  ached  from  the  con 
stant  strain  in  holding  him  ;  his  efforts,  however, 
were  rewarded  at  last  by  Bub's  beginning  to 
comprehend  the  case. 

"  It's  the  wicked  Indians,"  whispered  Charlie, 
"and  they'll  kill  us  if  we  make  any  noise." 

Three  days  and  nights  came  and  went.  How 
thankful  Charlie  was  for  the  provisions  and  water 
which  he  had  unwittingly  provided  for  this  fear 
ful  hour !  He  had  the  good  sense,  however,  to 
be  careful  of  the  water;  for  he  knew  not  how 
long  he  must  stay  there ;  and  he  taught  Bub  to 
eat  very  slowly,  as  he  had  heard  his  father  say 
that  the  hunters  did  so  on  the  plains  to  prevent 
thirst.  It  was  a  terrible  ordeal  for  a  boy  of  his 
tender  years  to  witness  the  horrid  sights  tran 
spiring  around  him;  and  then,  when  the  neigh 
boring  cabins  were  fired,  he  was  filled  with  fear, 
lest  the  cinders  would  set  the  tree  ablaze. 

Charlie  hoped,  through  all  this  long  watching, 


THE    BOY    IN    THE    TREE.  243 

for  an  opportunity  to  take  refuge  with  his  father 
and  mother  in  the  cabin;  but  the  savages  lay 
encamped  around  him,  and  several  times  an  In 
dian  crept  upon  his  hands,  and  knees,  and  fired 
from  behind  the  tree  at  the  inmates  of  the 
cabin. 

Three  days  and  nights  —  how  long  they  were 
to  the  children  in  the  tree  !     And  yet  there  was 
nothing  to  indicate  that  they  might  not  remain 
there  as  much  longer,  provided  the  defence  of  the 
cabin  continued   as  persistently  as  it  had  done. 
There  was  still  a  good  supply  of  food,  although 
the  potatoes  had  to  be  eaten  raw.     But  the  water 
grew  nauseating,  and  if  some  more  could  not  be 
obtained,  what  would  they  do?     Bub  began  to 
be  tormented  with  thirst,   and  once  attempted  to 
cry  for  water.     He  had  borne  up  like  a  hero, 
controlled    by  his  fears,    sometimes    seeming   to 
forget  his  own  wants  and  perils  in  his  baby  con 
cern  for  his  parents. 

"Will  the  wicked  Indians  kill  father  and  moth 
er?"  he  once  asked,  his  blue  eyes  wide  with 
horror,  and  voice  too  loud  for  prudence,  just  as  a 
savage  was  creeping  up  to  take  aim  from  behind 
the  tree,  so  that  Charlie  had  to  guard  him  with 
ceaseless  vigilance.  But  thirst  — how  could  he 
expect  that  a  little  boy,  like  Bub,  could  long 
endure  its  torments  without  making  his  agony 
known  ? 


244  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  I  want  some  water,"  hoarsely  whispered  Bub  ; 
"I  dry." 

"  Well,  don't  make  any  noise,  and  Charlie  '11  get 
you  some." 

So,  waiting  till  after  nightfall,  Charlie  put  his 
head  cautiously  out  of  the  hole,  and  peered 
around.  The  spring  was  not  far  off;  but  Char 
lie  knew  that  the  savages  would  be  likely  to 
guard  that,  and  he  did  not  venture  to  draw  his 
whole  body  from  the  aperture  save  with  the  ut 
most  caution,  and  very  slowly.  Satisfying  him 
self  that  the  Indians  were  not  noticing  the  tree, 
he  drew  himself  completely  out,  and  then,  put 
ting  his  head  in  again,  whispered, — 

"  Now,  Bub,  don't  you  move  nor  stir,  wrhile  I 
go  for  the  water.  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

The  heroic  boy  might  have  been  taken  in  the 
darkness  for  an  overgrown  caterpillar,  he  crawled 
so  softly  towards  the  spring.  He  knew'thatif 
he  broke  a  stick  or  twig,  or  inadvertently  hit  his 
coffee-pot  against  an  obstacle,  the  quick  ear  of  the 
Indian  would  be  sure  to  detect  it,  and  yet  he  was 
surprised  at  his  own  coolness  and  mastery  of 
himself ;  and  he  accomplished  the  feat,  returning 
with  the  black  old  pot  filled  to  the  brim.. 

He  had  got  within  a  few  feet  of  the  tree,  when, 
in  range  of  the  opening,  he  saw  a  figure  ap 
parently  watching  him.  Charlie  thought  his 
hour  had  come ;  that  it  was  a  savage  ready  with 


THE    BOY    IN    THE    TREE.  245 

his  scalping-knife,  and  had  given  up  all  for  lost, 
when  the  dark  form  moved  from  out  the  shadow 
towards  him,  and  to  his  consternation  he  saw  that 
it  was  Bub,  who  trudged  forward,  saying  in  a 
loud  whisper,  — 

"  Has  oo  dot  any  water  ?  " 

Charlie,  to  save  further  noise,  chose  the  bold 
alternative  of  letting  him  drink  on  the  spot; 
and  retaining  his  prostrate  condition,  quickly  put 
the  pot  to  Bub's  lips,  and  the  child  swallowed 
great  draughts  with  satisfied  gutturals  that  seemed 
to  Charlie's  apprehensive  ear  like  the  reports  of 
pocket  pistols.  He  let  him  drink  his  fill,  how 
ever,  then,  pulling  him  down  by  his  chubby  legs, 
thrust  him  swiftly,  but  softly,  through  the  aperture, 
following  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  keeping  per 
fectly  still  for  a  full  hour  before  he  dared  venture 
forth  again  for  the  coffee-pot,  which  he  was 
obliged  to  leave  behind. 

The  vigilance  of  their  father  in  the  defence  of 
the  cabin  not  only  kept  the  children  in  the  tree 
longer  than  Charlie  bargained  for  when  he  turned 
in,  on  that  memorable  afternoon,  to  play  Crusoe, 
but  also  put  their  lives  in  jeopardy  from  their 
father's  bullets.  For,  as  we  have  said  before,  the 
tree  being  a  large  one,  and  conveniently  near  the 
cabin,  the  savages  would  creep  up  behind  it  to 
shoot  from,  which  would  be  sure  to  bring  a  dan 
gerous  response  ;  and  Charlie  was  obliged  to  know 


246  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

more  than  once  that  the  tree  was  perforated  by 
balls  from  his  father's  rifle.  At  such  times  the 
youngsters  kept  as  close  to  the  ground  as  possible. 

When  the  Indians  set  fire  to  the  roof  of  the 
cabin,  Charlie  was  almost  wild  with  excitement, 
fearing  that  his  parents  would  now  be  burned  to 
death.  Nor  was  his  anxiety  lessened  when  he 
saw  his  father  ascend  the  roof  to  extinguish  the 
flames,  thus  exposing  himself  to  the  deadly  aim 
of  the  foe. 

Captain  Manly's  attack,  however,  he  did  not 
understand  ;  for  the  soldiers  did  not  pass  near  the 
tree,  and  the  confusion  and  clamor,  the  horrid 
yells  that  rent  the  air,  and  the  tramp  of  the  con 
tending  parties  in  the  dim  twilight,  seemed  like 
the  chaos  of  a  whirlwind,  —  the  fight  was  so  sud 
den  and  so  soon  over,  —  and  he  dared  not  leave  the 
tree  after  the  battle,  not  knowing  what  it  all  meant. 
He  had  a  bewildered  idea  that  there  had  been  an 
attack  on  the  Indians  by  a  party  of  whites,  but 
which  had  been  victorious  he  could  not  tell.  So 
he  watched  on,  trying  to  determine  this  point, 
until  late  in  the  night,  when  he  saw  a  dark  body 
moving  cautiously  from  the  -cabin. 

"The  Indians  have  taken  the  cabin,"  he  con 
cluded,  "  and  now  they'll  burn  our  house  as  they 
did  the  others." 

And  yet  it  puzzled  him  to  see  how  closely 
together  the  savages  kept,  instead  of  being  scat- 


THE    BOY    IN    THE    TREE.  247 

tered  about  in  all  directions,  as  they  were  before. 
He  could  see  them  moving  quietly  away,  and 
thought  some  of  them  were  mounted  on  their 
ponies.  After  they  were  well  out  of  sight,  rest 
ing  Bub's  head  against  the  skin  powder-bag,  — 
for  the  little  fellow,  overcome  by  weariness,  had 
fallen  asleep,  —  he  crawled  from  his  hiding-place 
and  reconnoitred.  Suddenly  he  stumbled  over  a 
dead  Indian,  lying  with  his  rifle  beside  him;  and 
soon  he  came  across  another.  But  all  was  still 
in  the  cabin. 

"  There  has  been  a  battle,"  said  Charlie  to  him 
self,  exultantly,  "  and  the  Indians  are  driven 
away  ;  "  and  he  entered  the  house. 

All  was  dark  and  quiet;  so,  feeling  his  way 
to  the  chimney,  he  raked  open  the  ashes,  and 
found  a  few  sparks.  Going  out,  he  gathered 
twigs  and  limbs,  and,  heaping  them  on  the  hearth, 
blew  them  into  a  blaze  ;  then  running  to  the  tree, 
he  awakened  Bub,  and  hurried  him  to  the  cabin, 
and  returned  for  his  Crusoe  provisions  and  ammu 
nition. 

"Where's  father  and  mother?"  asked  Bub, 
looking  round  in  dismay. 

"  I  think,"  said  Charlie,  soothingly,  with  a  pro 
found  air,  "  that  the  settlers  have  got  together  and 
driven  off  the  Indians,  and  taken  our  folks  where 
they'll  be  safe  ;  and  now,  Bub,  we'll  live  here  like 
Robinson  Crusoe  on  the  island,  and  you  shall  be 


248  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

my  Friday  till  our  folks  come  back  ;  for,  you  see, 
they'll  find  out  that  we  ain't  with  them,  and  they'll 
come  and  take  us  away." 

"  Can't  we  go  where  our  folks  is  now  ?  "  inquired 
Bub,  beginning  to  cry. 

"It's  so  dark  we  can't  find  them,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Won't  the  Indians  come  and  hurt  us  ?  " 

Charlie  started  at  the  thought. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head 
doubtfully;  "'twould  be  just  like  them.  But  I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do.  There's  a  good  many  In 
dians  been  killed  around  the  house,  and  I'll  just 
go  out  and  get  all  the  rifles  I  can,  and  then  let 
them  try  it  if  they  want  to.  Why,  Robinson 
Crusoe  drove  off  twenty-nine  canoes  full,  and  I 
bet  he  didn't  have  so  many  guns  as  I'll  have." 

And  hastening  out,  he  kept  finding  and  bring 
ing  them  in  until  he  had  a  dozen. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "I'll  bring  in  lots  of  wood, 
and  we'll  keep  the  fire  crackling  ;  "  and  he  stirred 
the  burning  limbs  to  make  the  sparks  fly ;  "  and 
if  the  Indians  return,  they'll  think  there's  a  big 
houseful  of  men  in  here.  Besides,"  he  add 
ed,  "if  our  folks  see  the  sparks  from  the  chim 
ney,  they'll  know  you  and  I  are  here,  and  return 
for  us.  And  on  the  whole,  I  guess  I'd  rather  go 
with  them,  than  to  fight  the  cannibals  alone ;  for 
if  I  should  happen  to  be  killed,  I  suppose  they'd 
ha.ve  to  eat  me,  and  I'd  rather  not  be  eaten." 


THE    BOY    IN    THE    TREE.  249 

Charlie  brought  from  the  enclosure  a  fine  pile 
of  wood  and  a  pail  of  water,  then  went  out  to 
see  that  the  outer  door  was  secured,  and  closed 
the  shutter  in  the  room.  He  then  proceeded  to 
examine  the  rifles,  —  for  he  was  well  versed  in 
fire-arms,  like  western  boys  generally,  —  and 
carefully  cleaned  and  loaded  them. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "Crusoe  had  his  seven  guns 
mounted,  and  I'll  mount  my  twelve." 

Fortunately  for  his  scheme,  the  places  had 
been  already  prepared.  After  this  was  done,  he 
went  down  into  the  cellar  to  see  if  there  was  any 
thing  to  eat,  and  finding  some  food,  he  returned, 
and  hanging  the  tea-kettle  over  the  fire,  he  poured 
some  boiling  water  upon  the  tea-grounds  in  the 
tea-pot,  then  set  the  table  for  himself  and  Bub, 
and  assigning  Bub  one  chair,  and  getting  another 
for  himself,  said,  — 

"  We  might  as  well  live  like  folks,  as  long  as 
we  are  out  of  the  tree." 

Then,  having  finished  their  repast,  he  said, — 

"  I  feel  tired,  it's  so  long  since  I've  had  a  good 
sleep ;  so  I  guess  we'd  better  go  to  bed."  And 
lying  down  upon  the  bed  in  the  corner,  with  an 
arm  lovingly  clasping  little  Bub,  they  sank  into 
the  sweet  sleep  of  childhood. 


250  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


IT  was  nine  o'clock  next  morning  when  Char 
lie  awoke,  much  refreshed.  Some  moments 
elapsed  before  he  could  recollect  where  he  was, 
and  how  he  came  there.  Then,  hastening,  first 
to  the  port-holes,  through  which  his  guns  were 
pointed,  he  scanned  the  field  on  all  sides,  to  see 
if  any  enemy  was  in  view.  The  result  being 
satisfactory,  he  commenced  preparations  for 
breakfast,  for  Bub  was  now  awake,  and  hungry 
as  a  "starved  kitten." 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  he  to  Bub,  as  they  ate 
their  morning  meal,  "  I've  got  a  jolly  plan  for  us. 
I'm  going  to  dig  a  cave  in  the  cellar,  so  that  if 
the  Indians  should  get  into  the  cabin,  we  could 
hide  there  just  as  we  did  in  the  tree." 

"  And  you'll  have  some  water  in  there  for  me 
to  drink,"  suggested  Bub. 

"Yes,"  answered  Charlie;  "we'll  have  every 
thing  that  we  want." 

So,  assuring  himself,  by  another  examination, 
that  matters  outside  wore  a  peaceful  aspect,  he 


BUB'S    BROADSIDE.  251 

repaired  to  the  cellar,  to  commence  the  excava 
tion.  Luckily  for  Charlie's  plan,  the  cellar 
walls  had  been  carelessly  constructed,  and  in  a 
corner  he  found  a  large-sized  stone,  that  he 
could  remove  from  its  place  in  the  foundation 
without  disturbing  the  others.  Taking  this  out, 
with  the  iron  fire-shovel,  he  soon  had  drawn 
forth  a  large  quantity  of  the  loose  sand. 

"Now,"  observed  Charlie  to  Bub,  "you  must 
take  the  shovel,  and  throw  the  sand  about  the 
cellar,  while  I  work  with  my  hands." 

This  was  quite  an  easy  task,  the  sand  was  so 
light  and  dry.  And  ere  long  he  had  a  place 
large  enough  to  conceal  himself  and  Bub. 

"But,"  said  he,  "I  shall  make  it  extend  far 
ther  in,  so  that  if  the  cabin  is  burnt  over  our 
heads,  it  won't  be  too  hot  for  us." 

But  Bub  made  little  headway  in  shovelling  the 
sand;  so  Charlie  finished  the  job  for  him,  and 
then  from  a  heap  of  litter,  which  he  had  before 
taken  the  precaution  to  scrape  into  a  corner,  he 
took  enough  to  cover  the  fresh  sand  all  over. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "let's  try  our  new  cave;" 
and,  squeezing  through  the  hole  from  which  he 
had  taken  the  stone,  Bub  creeping  in  after  him, 
Charlie  reached  out  and  drew  the  stone  into  its 
place  again.  Charlie  was  delighted. 

"  I  like  this  ! "  he  exclaimed ;  "  it's  more  like 
Robinson  Crusoe's  cave." 


252  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

Bub  thought  he  liked  it  too,  but  soon  cried  out, 
"  I  can't  hardly  breeve  ;  an'  it's  drefful  dark." 

"It's  lucky  I've  tried  it,"  replied  Charlie; 
"but  I'll  fix  it  all  nice." 

And  pushing  out  the  stone  with  his  foot,  he 
went  up  stairs,  and  returned  with  an  old  bayonet, 
with  which  he  succeeded  in  dexterously  working 
some  small  holes  through  the  mortar,  with  which 
the  crevices  of  the  ill-matched  stones  were  filled. 
This  was  so  ingeniously  done,  that  it  would  not 
be  noticed  ;  and  yet  enough  light  and  air  were  let 
in  to  make  the  place  tolerable  for  the  purpose  for 
which  it  was  intended. 

It  was  now  past  noon,  and  they  went  up  stairs, 
and  Charlie  looked  out  again,  to  see  if  there 
were  any  signs  of  danger;  but  still  "all  was 
quiet  along  the  Potomac." 

"  I  don't  think,"  sagely  observed  Charlie, 
"  that  the  Indians  are  ever  coming  back.  In  my 
opinion  they  have  had  about  enough  of  fighting, 
they  cleared  off  so  quick,  and  there  is  so  many 
of  them  dead." 

At  which  Bub  waxed  valiant,  and  said,  — 

"  I  wish  I  had  my  big  stick  to  -stick  into  their 
backs,  if  they  do  come." 

Charlie  could  not  forbear  a  laugh  at  this,  not 
withstanding  the  sanguinary  scenes  that  had 
crowded  the  last  few  days  with  horrors,  but 
answered,  — 


BUB'S    BROADSIDE.  253 

"  I  know  what  you  can  do,  Bub,  to  drive  them 
away,  if  they  should  come  ;  "  and,  drawing  a  ball 
of  twine  from  his  pocket,  he  tied  it  to  the  trigger 
of  one  of  the  mounted  rifles,  then  feeling  again  in 
his  pocket  for  his  knife  to  cut  off  the  string,  he 
said,  — 

"  Where's  my  jackknife  ?  I  must  have  lost  it 
in  going  to  the  spring  for  water ;  lots  of  things 
tumbled  out  as  I  crawled  through  the  grass. 
Never  mind  ;  I  can  use  a  case-knife  ;"  and,  taking 
one  from  the  table,  he  divided  the  string  so  as 
to  leave  the  end  of  it  hanging  within  easy  reach 
of  Bub.  He  did  the  same  to  all  the  guns. 

"Now,"  he  explained  to  Bub,  "when  I  tell  you 
to  pull  one  of  these  strings,  you  must  do  it  as  quick 
as  you  can.  I  will  whisper,  Pull !  and  you  must 
take  right  hold  of  the  twine,  and  draw  it  so ;  " 
and,  contrary  to  Charlie's  intention,  bang  went 
the  rifle. 

"Why,  I  didn't  mean  to  do  that;  but  it  will 
show  you  how.  Pulling  the  string  made  the 
gun  go  off,  you  see." 

Bub  was  all  attention,  and  asked,  eagerly, 

"Shall  I  do  it  now?" 

"  O,  no,"  replied  Charlie.  "I  mean,  when  I 
tell  you  to.  When  the  Indians  come,  and  I  say, 
Pull!  Suppose,  for  instance,  I  should  get  up  in 
this  way," — and  he  ascended  to  the  lookout, — 
"  and  I  should  look  out  in  this  way,"  —  and  he 


254  THE    CABIN   ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

put  his  eye  to  the  port-hole,  —  "  and  I  should  see 
a  big  Indian  coming  to  kill  Bub." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  little  listener,  "  I  knows  ;  " 
and  his  eyes  glistened  with  excitement. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  peep  out,  and  I  see 
a  big  Indian  coming  —  " 

Bub  at  this  instinctively  drew  nearer  the  string, 
his  gaze  on  Charlie. 

"  And  I  should  whisper,  Pull  f  " 

Instantly  Bub's  fat  fist  twitched  the  string,  and 
a  second  report  echoed  over  the  prairie. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?"  asked  his  broth 
er,  much  displeased.  "  I  didn't  wish  you  to  do  it 
now.  I  was  only  explaining  how  to  do  it,  and 
I  want  you  to  do  it  right.  Don't  touch  the  strings 
till  I  tell  you ;  and  then,  when  I  give  the  word, 
you'll  pull  —  won't  you?" 

Curly-head  looked  as  if  he  intended  to  stand 
by  the  guns. 

"  In  that  way,  Bub,"  continued  Charlie,  "we 
could  keep  off  a  great  many  Indians ;  I  loading 
and  firing,  and  you  firing  too,  Bub.  But  I 
haven't  put  that  last  rifle  in  just  right ;  "  and  glan 
cing  out  of  the  hole,  as  he  adjusted  it,  he  turned 
deathly  pale,  and  his  whispered  utterance  was 
strangely  faint,  as  he  exclaimed,  — 

"  If  there  isn't  an  Indian  now  !  " 

It  is  said  by  old  hunters  accustomed  to  shoot 
small  game,  however  skilful  in  the  use  of  fire- 


255 

arms  they  may  be,  that  the  first  time  they  see  a 
large  animal,  —  a  deer,  for  example,  —  such  a 
nervous  excitement  seizes  them,  although  the 
creature  stands  within  a  few  feet  of  them,  for 
an  instant  they  cannot  command  themselves  to 
.fire ;  and  when  they  do,  they  are  sure  to  miss 
the  object.  It  is  not  surprising,  then,  that  Char 
lie  was,  for  a  moment,  paralyzed.  He  gazed  at 
the  Indian  as  if  fascinated,  as  the  savage  glided 
along,  his  head  bent,  going  from  the  spring  to 
wards  the  tree,  in  the  very  path  through  which 
Charlie  had  carried  the  water,  stooping  to  pick 
up  something,  then, keeping  on  a  few  paces,  then 
stopping  and  putting  his  ear  to  the  ground,  as  if 
intently  listening.  He  was  within  easy  range  of 
Charlie's  rifle  all  the  time ;  yet  the  boy  lifted  not 
his  finger. 

The  savage  now  rapidly  darted  forward,  as 
if  following  Charlie's  trail,  and,  sweeping  the 
bushes  back  with  his  hand,  discovered  the  open 
ing  in  the  tree,  and,  to  Charlie's  amazement,  man 
aged  to  creep  in.  Nearly  an  hour  had  passed, 
and  Charlie  still  waited  in  painful  suspense,  won 
dering  what  next  would  transpire,  when  he  saw 
a  score  or  more  of  Indians  stealthily  approaching 
from  different  directions  towards  the  cabin.  The 
blood  returned  to  Charlie's  face,  and,  recovering 
his  sense.s,  he  whispered  to  Bub,  "The  Indians 
have  come." 


256  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

He  then  took  sight  across  the  rifle  nearest  Bub, 
and  found  that  it  covered  several  of  the  savages  ; 
and,  taking  aim  with  the  one  next  to  it,  he  said 
to  his  little  brother,  "  Pull !"  Bub  did  so,  and, 
starting  on  the  round  trot,  pulled  each  string  in 
succession.  A  broadside  ensued  that  would  have 
done  honor  to  an  old-fashioned  ship  of  war.  The 
effect  was  prodigious.  The  savages  seemed  to 
think  that  a  strong  force  occupied  the  cabin ;  for, 
with  a  loud  yell,  and  a  hasty  discharge  of  fire 
arms,  they  vanished  from  sight. 

Charlie  was  astounded  at  Bub's  misunderstand 
ing  of  the  order  and  the  effect  produced.  Gaz 
ing  amazed  into  ^vacancy, —  for  the  enemy  had 
disappeared,  —  he  sprang  to  the  floor,  hugged 
Bub  till  he  almost  suffocated  him,  and,  laughing 
uncontrollably,  stammered,  "That  beats  Robinson 
Crusoe  I " 

The  scene  was  indeed  ludicrous.  The  sav 
ages  had  conie  to  carry  off  their  dead  comrades, 
and,  creeping  cautiously  along,  had  got  so  near 
the  house  without  being  observed,  that  their 
suspicion  that  the  cabin  was  vacated  became  con 
firmed.  The  discharge  of  the  rifles  by  the  boys 
was,  therefore,  a  perfect  surprise,  the  fact  that 
they  were  permitted  to  get  so  near  before  they 
were  fired  upon  impressing  them  all  the  more ; 
for  they  well  knew  that,  if  few  were  in  the 
dwelling  to  defend  it,  every  effort  would  have 


BUB'S    BROADSIDE.  257 

been  put  forth  to  keep  them  at  a  distance.  More 
over,  the  firing  coming  from  all  sides  of  the 
dwelling  at  once,  had  also  the  appearance  as  if 
it  was  quite  heavily  manned. 

It  was  a  brilliant  day,  and  the  light  puff  of 
smoke  from  each  rifle  rose  at  once  into  the  air, 
giving  Charlie  a  fine  view  of  the  field ;  and  the 
simultaneous  springing  up  of  so  many  astonished 
savages,  their  queer  grimaces,  and  the  grotesque 
manner  in  which  they  scrambled  out  of  range, 
struck  the  lad  as  irresistibly  comic,  especicilly  as 
he  considered  that  it  was  Bub's  blunder  that  was 
at  the  bottom  of  the  rout. 

Recovering  himself,  he  proceeded  to  reload  the 
rifles.  But  one  thing  gave  him  uneasiness.  The 
Indian,  he  was  quite  sure,  was  still  in  the  tree. 
What  was  he  there  for?  "Perhaps,"  thought 
Charlie,  "  he  will  make  a  hole  through  the  tree, 
and  watch  his  chance,  and  shoot  me.  At  any 
rate,  he's  a  spy ;  and  if  he  should  find  out  that 
only  Bub  and  I  were  here,  he  might  make  us 
trouble." 

He  was  puzzled  to  know  what  to  do.  He  set 
himself  to  watch  through  the  port-hole  to  see  if 
he  would  come  out.  Two  long  hours  Charlie 
remained  at  his  post,  till  he  grew  weary  with  the 
duty.  Then  he  bethought  himself  of  another 
plan.  He  had  read  in  the  old  spelling  book  of 
the  boy  who  wouldn't  descend  from  the  farmer's 
17 


258  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

apple  tree  for  coaxing;  and  the  farmer  said,  "If 
you  will  not  come  down  for  words,  I'll  try  the 
effect  of  stones,"  which  brought  the  trespasser 
quickly  to  the  ground.  Now,  the  Indian  was  not 
up  a  tree,  but  he  was  in  one,  and  he  would  not 
come  out  for  Charlie's  watching;  so  Charlie 
thought  he  would  employ  harder  arguments, 
and,  aiming  at  the  point  where  he  supposed  the 
savage  must  be  in  his  hiding-place,  he  blazed 
away.  He  had  fired  three  times,  when,  sud 
denly,  the  tawny  occupant  slipped  out,  and 
crouched  behind  the  tree,  from  which  he  com 
menced  making  friendly  signs  towards  the  cor 
ner  of  the  cabin  from  which  the  bullets  came. 
Charlie  understood  the  signals,  but  muttering, 
"You  can't  catch  me  that  way,  old  villain," 
continued  firing  every  time  he  thought  he  could 
hit  the  savage.  The  Indian  had  not,  during  all 
this,  fired  in  return.  This  seemed  curious  to  the 
boy ;  but  concluding  it  to  be  an  Indian  trick,  he 
determined  not  to  be  outwitted.  Whatever  the 
object  of  the  savage  was  in  his  mysterious  con 
duct,  he  at  last  despaired  of  accomplishing  it, 
and  adroitly  slipped  away. 

As  night  drew  its  heavy  curtains  around  the 
beleaguered  cabin,  Charlie  experienced  a  feeling 
of  dread  creeping  over  him.  He  felt  compara 
tively  safe  while  he  could  see  the  foe ;  but  now 
the  night  seemed  ominous  of  evil.  The  wind 


259 

moaning  through  the  trees,  the  ticking  of  the 
insect  under  the  bark  in  the  logs,  and  even  the 
shrill  chirping  of  the  cricket,  sounded  unnatural 
to  him.  He  thought  of  the  dead  and  gory  forms 
stretched  upon  the  greensward  without ;  the  grass 
matted  with  human  blood ;  the  imprecations  and 
fierce  shouts  that  had  resounded,  and  the  death 
ly  struggles  that  passed  before  him  while  shel 
tered  by  the  friendly  tree  ;  the  heavy  tramp  of 
men  fighting  in  the  deadly  struggle ;  the  sharp 
reports  of  the  fire-arms;  the  horrible  screams  and 
heart-piercing  pleadings  of  women  and  children 
as  they  were  murdered  and  tortured  by  the  sav 
ages  ;  the  lurid  glare  of  the  burning  cabins ;  the 
Indians  dancing  and  yelling  in  horrid  mirth : 
his  active  brain  was  filled  with  such  remem 
brances.  In  the  stillness  and  loneliness  of  night, 
in  that  cabin,  these'  awful  scenes  came  up  with 
appalling  vividness,  and  weird  and  demon  faces 
seemed  to  peep  and  mutter  at  him  from  the  cor 
ners  of  the  room.  Once  he  fancied  that  he  heard 
the  cellar  stairs  creak  under  a  heavy  tread. 
And  while  Bub  slept  peacefully  in  childish  un 
consciousness  of  his  brother's  terror,  he  shivered 
and  watched  through  that  long  night  until  the 
rosy  beams  of  morning  dispelled  the  illusions  of 
the  darkness. 


260  THE    CABIN    ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

i 

LONG    HAIR. 

THE  news  of  Mr.  Jones's  death,  together  with 
the  atrocities  connected  with  the  Indian  uprising, 
spread  a  gloom  throughout  the  Tort ;  and  when, 
two  days  later,  the  funeral  of  the  pioneer  took 
place,  tears  were  in  many  a  veteran's  eye.  Gen 
eral  McElroy  respected  the  qualities  which  had 
marked  the  last  days  of  the  deceased,  and  said,  — 

"  He  did  not  serve  in  the  ranks,  but  if  ever  a 
man  deserved  a  soldier's  burial,  poor  Jones  does ; 
and  he  shall  have  it." 

So  the  body  was  borne  to  the  grave  under 
military  escort,  the  soldiers  marching  to  the 
mournful  strains  of  the  funeral  dirge  and  muffled 
drums  ;  the  corpse  was  lowered  to  its  last  resting- 
place  ;  the  burial  service  read  with  a  trembling 
voice  by  the  chaplain,  —  for  the  missionary  had 
taken  his  place  among  the  mourners  by  the  side 
of  the  widow,  —  the  usual  salute  was  fired,  and 
the  procession  retraced  its  steps. 

Mrs.  Jones  felt  that  she  was  now  bereaved 
indeed,  and  almost  alone  in  the  world,  and  it 


LONG    HAIR.  26l 

became  a  question  with  her  what  she  could  do, 
under  the  circumstances,  for  herself  and  family. 
Disconsolately  she  discussed  this  matter  with 
Tom. 

"  I  cannot  remain  longer  in  these  apartments, 
living  on  the  hospitality  of  the  general,"  said 
she  ;  w  and  as  your  dear  father  is  gone,  it  becomes 
me  to  earn  something  for  my  own  support.  I 
must  have  Robert  with  me,  he  is  so  young,  and 
make  some  humble  home  where  you  c#n  be.  with 
us  as  much  as  possible.  But  what  I  can  do  to 
effect  this  I  cannot  now  see,  there  are  so  few 
opportunities  for  women  to  earn." 

It  goaded  Tom  that  his  mother  was  under  the 
necessity  of  talking  in  so  depressed  a  way,  and 
that  he  could  do  nothing  suitably  to  provide  for 
her.  At  this  juncture  there  was  a  gentle  knock 
at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  McElroy  entered. 

"You  will  excuse  me  if  I  have  intruded,"  said 
she;  "but  I  came  in  to  ask  what  arrangements, 
if  any,  you  had  made  for  the  future,  and  to  say 
that,  if  you  have  nothing  better  in  view,  the  gen 
eral  and  myself  would  like  to  have  you  remain 
with  us." 

"  But  I  have  already  been  dependent  on  your 
hospitality  too  long,"  objected  Mrs.  Jones,  "  and 
it  seems  proper  that  I  should  make  a  home  for 
myself  and  Robert  as  soon  as  possible." 


262  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  Have  you  any  suitable  place  provided  as 
yet?"  asked  Mrs.  McElroy. 

"Not  decisively,"  answered  the  widow. 

"  It  could  not  be  expected  that  you  would  so 
soon,"  answered  Mrs.  McElroy.  "  Now  we  have 
a  plan  for  you,  which  may  be  to  our  mutual  ad 
vantage.  The  little  community  dwelling  within 
these  brick  walls  is  a  very  social  one,  and  the 
general's  time  and  my  own  is  so  much  occupied, 
that  my  children  suffer  for  a  mother's  care.  You 
are  exactly  the  person  we  need  to  take  the  over 
sight  of  them.  Your  own  children  are  a  credit 
to  you ;  they  show  that  you  have  just  the  quali 
ties  of  mind  and  heart  for  such  a  position.  Now, 
if  you  will  look  a  little  after  my  children's  train 
ing,  you  will  take  a  burden  from  my  hands,  and 
a  load  of  anxiety  from  my  mind,  and  between  us 
both,  I  think  we  can  manage  so  as  not  to  be  over 
charged." 

"  But  Robert — "  began  Mrs.  Jones,  hesitatingly. 

"The  general  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  him, 
and  says  if  he  can  have  him  he  will  make  some 
thing  of  him ;  and  what  my  husband  undertakes 
he  never  does  by  halves.  Robert  would  have 
the  best  of  advantages,  and  be  under  your  own 
eye." 

Mrs.  Jones's  emotions  wrere  too  great  for  words. 
This  unexpected  provision  for  herself  and  boy 
seemed  truly  providential.  She  might  go  the 


LONG   HAIR.  263 

world  over  and  not  meet  with  such  delicate  and 
appreciative  treatment.  Still  she  hesitated.  Her 
life  in  the  squatter's  cabin  through  so  many  years 
of  deprivation  and  poverty  placed  her,  in  her  own 
consciousness,  in  such  painful  contrast  to  the 
courtly  and  elegant  Mrs.  McElroy,  that  she  felt 
diffident  about  accepting  so  responsible  a  trust. 
And  she  understood  children  well  enough  to 
know  that  the  offspring  of  the  rich  often  look 
down  on  those  in  humbler  circumstances.  Would 
the  general's  children  respect  her  as  they  should, 
in  order  for  her  to  assume  such  a  relation  towards 
them  as  their  mother  wished?  These  thoughts 
passed  rapidly  through  her  mind,  and,  in  justice 
to  them  as  well  as  herself,  she  felt  that  she  would 
like  to  have  that  point  put  to  rest.  She  was  a 
woman  of  straightforward  good  sense,  and  there 
fore  decided  to  be  frank  in  the  matter,  and 
asked,  — 

"  But  would  the  arrangement  be  agreeable  to 
your  children,  madam?" 

Mrs.  McElroy  had  foreseen  this,  and  was  pre 
pared  with  an  answer.  She  rang  the  bell,  and 
black  Nancy  appeared. 

"Send  Alice  and  Willie  here,"  she  said;  and 
in  a  moment  the  brother  and  sister  came  run 
ning  in. 

"  Children,"  said  their  mother,  "  I've  been  trying 


264  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

to  persuade  Mrs.  Jones  to  stay  with  us,  and  take 
charge  of  you.     How  would  you  like  that?  " 

"  O,  that  would  be  so  nice  ! "  said  Alice,  crossing 
to  Mrs.  Jones,  and  putting  her  arms  around  her 
neck —  an  action  that  was  peculiar  to  her. 

"It  would  be  real  good  in  her,  I'm  sure," 
chimed  in  Willie  ;  "  and  then  I  could  have  Robert 
to  play  with  me,  —  he  makes  splendid  pop 
guns,  —  couldn't  I,  mother? " 

So  it  was  settled,  and  in  such  a  manner  that 
Mrs.  Jones  was  made  to  feel  that  she  was  confer 
ring  a  favor,  rather  than  having  one  conferred  on 
her ;  and,  in  fact,  the  arrangement  was  mutually 
advantageous,  as  Mrs.  McElroy  had  sincerely 
remarked. 

Mr.  Payson  now  called  to  take  leave  of  the 
widow,  and  ask  if  Tom  would  like  to  return 
with  him.  He  was  much  pleased  with  the  ar 
rangement,  expressing  anew  his  sympathy  with 
her  in  her  bereavements,  and,  charging  her  to 
cling  to  the  consolation  of  the  gospel,  he  and 
Tom  took  their  departure,  the  latter  tenderly  kiss 
ing  his  mother  and  Robert  as  he  bade  them 
good  by. 

"You  must  come  often  and  see  your  mother," 
said  Mrs.  McElroy,  cordially;  "you  know  we 
shall  be  like  one  family  hereafter ;  and  not  only 
Robert  and  your  mother  will  be  lonesome  without 
you,  but  the  rest  of  the  children  will  be  glad  to 


LONG    HAIR.  265 

have  you  join  them  in  their  amusements  and 
studies,"  to  which  assurance  Alice  and  Willie 
looked  their  approval.  As  the  wheels  of  the 
missionary's  buggy  rumbled  out  of  the  square, 
Mrs.  Jones  said  with  a  sigh, — 

"  What  a  change  has  come  over  my  flock  within 
a  few  days  !  my  husband,  and  Sarah,  and  dear 
little  Bub  murdered  by  the  Indians,  and  Charlie, 
also,  I  suppose  I  must  say,  although  there  is 
something  peculiarly  trying  in  the  mystery  that 
hangs  over  his  fate." 

"  You  do  not  really  know,  then,  what  became  of 
him,"  observed  Mrs.  McElroy. 

"  No  ;  and  this  uncertainty  is  agonizing.  Per 
haps  he  was  captured  by  the  Indians,  and  may 
be  at  this  very  moment  suffering  the  most  barba 
rous  treatment  from  them  ;  or  the  dear  boy  may 
have  been  devoured  by  a  wild  beast,  or  he  may 
be  starving  in  the  wilderness.  This  suspense 
concerning  him  is  too  much  to  bear ; "  and  she 
looked  anxiously  out  of  the  window. 

But  the  hour  for  dinner  had  arrived,  and  Mrs. 
Jones  and  Robert  went  down  with  the  others  to 
dine.  As  they  entered  the  dining-room,  the  gen 
eral  directed  their  attention  to  the  corner  of  the 
room ;  and  there,  wrapped  in  his  blanket,  sat  an 
Indian,  whom  Mrs.  Jones,  after  the  first  start  of 
surprise,  recognized  as  Long  Hair. 

"Mrs.  Jones,"  said  the  general,  "perhaps  you 


266  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

can  find  out  what  the  red-skin  wants.  He  isn't 
very  communicative  with  me,  but  seems  anxious 
to  see  your  Tom." 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you," 'said  Mrs.  Jones, 
kindly,  to  the  savage.  "  Have  you  anything  of 
importance  to  communicate?" 

But  Long  Hair  appeared  as  if  something  had 
gone  wrong  with  him,  and  sat  in  moody  silence. 

"Will  you  not  speak  to  me,  Long  Hair?" 
asked  Mrs.  Jones.  "You  know  I've  always 
treated  you  well  —  have  I  not?" 

"  White  squaw  good  to  Injin.  Sojer  say  In- 
jin  lie ;  sojer  call  Long  Hair  dog ;  tell  him  go 
way." 

"  Some  of  your  men  have  ill-treated  Long 
Hair,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Mrs.  Jones  to  the  gen 
eral. 

"Well,"  said  the  general,  "I'll  see  that  they 
don't  do  it  any  more ;  "  and,  wishing  to  propitiate 
the  tawny  brave,  he  added,  "perhaps  Long  Hair 
would  take  some  dinner  with  us."  But  the  In 
dian  wasn't  so  easily  appeased,  and  said, — 

"  Long  Hair  no  beggar-dog  ;  Long  Hair  shoot 
deer,  shoot  raccoon,  catch  fish,  plenty  !  " 

"But,"  interposed  Mrs.  Jones,  "didn't  you 
bring  some  venison  to  my  cabin  one  day,  and  did 
I  refuse  it,  Long  Hair?" 

"White  squaw  good,"  he  repeated;  "Long 
Hair  never  forget.  Long  Hair  sick ;  white 


LONG   HAIR.  267 

squaw  medicine  him.  Long  Hair  kill  deer  for 
white  squaw." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Jones;  "you  were  sick,  and 
I  took  care  of  you,  as  I  ought  to ;  and  you  have 
been  very  kind  to  me  and  mine,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  it." 

Under  her  gentle  influence,  the  Indian  was 
persuaded  to  partake  of  the  food  placed  before 
him.  He  ate  with  a  voracity  which  showed  that 
he  had  been  long  fasting,  and  his  appearance 
indicated  that  he  had  seen  hardship  and  danger. 
Mrs.  Jones  was  satisfied  that  his  coming  por 
tended  something  to  her,  either  good  or  evil ; 
and,  from  his  reserve,  she  feared  it  might  be  the 
latter,  and  the  better  to  draw  out  of  him  the  tid 
ings,  whatever  they  might  be,  related  the  circum 
stances  attending  her  husband's  death,  referring 
to  the  murder  of  Sarah  and  little  Bub,  and  the 
disappearance  of  Charlie,  adding,  that  she  sup 
posed  he  was  also  killed.  The  Indian  listened 
in  silence  till  she  spoke  of  Charlie  and  little  Bub, 
and  then,  with  energy,  exclaimed,  — 

"  Charlie  no  dead  !     Bub  no  dead  !  " 

"But  Bub  must  be  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Jones; 
"  for  I  saw  him  shot  by  Yellow  Bank." 

"No;  Injin  speak  truth." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  asked  she, 
astonished. 

Long  Hair  made  no  reply ;  but  drawing  from 


268  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

beneath  his  blanket  a  little  shoe,  he  placed  it  on 
the  edge  of  the  table ;  then,  by  its  side,  he  laid 
an  old  battered  jackknife. 

"Why,  Long  Hair  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Jones,  deeply 
agitated  ;  "  that's  Bub's  shoe,  and  Charlie's  knife. 
Where  did  you  get  them  ?  "  a  ray  of  hope  spring 
ing  up  in  her  heart. 

"Long  Hair  went  find  Charlie;  travel  much; 
peep  in  wigwam  much ;  no  find.  Long  Hair 
say  Charlie  no  killed ;  Charlie  no  taken  prison 
er;  Charlie  hid  near  cabin.  Long  Hair  look  all 
'bout  near  cabin ;  see  Charlie  hand  put  down  so," 
spreading  his  fingers,  "  in  mud  at  spring ;  den 
Long  Hair  say,  Charlie  thirsty ;  been  spring  for 
water;  find  trail;  find  knife  in  trail,  near  big 
tree ;  find  shoe  near  big  tree  ;  Bub  hid  in  tree ; 
then  Long  Hair  push  bush  way ;  see  hole  in 
tree.  Long  Hair  hear  Injins  coming ;  Long 
Hair  crawl  in  tree  quick;  no  Charlie' there ;  no 
Bub  there ;  find  these  in  tree ; "  taking  from  his 
blanket  a  handful  of  nuts,  and  some  potatoes, 
and  a  crust  of  bread,  and  some  trinkets  that  must 
have  fallen  from  Charlie's  pocket ;  "  den  Long 
Hair  see  Injins  come,  one,  two,  tree,  ten,  twenty, 
many ;  come  all  round,  crawling,  crawling ;  get 
near  cabin ;  Injin  think  nobody  in  cabin,  'cause 
get  near ;  rifle  shoot  from  cabin,  one,  two,  tree, 
many  rifle ;  scare  Injin ;  Injin  run  like  deer ; 
Long  Hair  wait  to  see  if  Injin  come  again ;  no 


LONG    HAIR.  269 

come  ;  shoot  from  cabin  at  Long  Hair ;  come  out 
tree  ;  get  behind  tree  quick ;  make  peace  sign  at 
cabin,  —  no  bleeve  Long  Hair;  try  shoot  at 
him  ;  Long  Hair  come  way  —  come  "to  fort !  " 

"Well,  that's  strange,"  said  General  McElroy ; 
"  from  Long  Hair's  account,  there  seems  to  be  a 
number  in  the  cabin ;  it  must  be  that  all  the  set 
tlers  were  not  massacred,  and  have  returned, 
and  taken  possession  of  the  cabin;  we  must  send 
a  force  to  their  relief." 

"But  where  are  Charlie  and  Bub?"  asked 
Mrs.  Jones  of  the  Indian. 

"  Long  Hair  don't  know  ;  think  in  cabin." 

"  How  many  persons,  should  you  judge  from 
the  firing,  were  in  the  cabin  ? "  inquired  the 
general. 

"Long  Hair  don't  know;  no  trail." 

"What  does  Long  Hair  mean  by  that?"  asked 
Mrs.  McElroy  of  her  husband. 

"  He  means  that  there  is  no  appearance  of  any 
of  the  settlers  being  about  the  cabin,"  said  the 
general,  "  which  makes  the  matter  still  more  in 
comprehensible  ;  for  if  any  of  the  settlers  had 
come  back,  Long  Hair  would  have  traced  them. 
Isn't  that  it,  Long  Hair?"  The  Indian  nodded 
assent.  "  And  yet  he  says  that  there  were  many 
guns  fired,"  continued  the  general ;  "  so  many 
that  quite  a  force  of  the  assailing  Indians  were 
panic-struck,  and  fled.  How  was  the  firing 


270  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

done,  Long  Hair?  As  if  by  persons  that  were 
used  to  handling  the  rifle?" 

"  One,  two,  tree,  bery  good ;  hit  Injin  some ; 
shoot  at  Long  Hair  good ;  much  hard  get  way ; 
to  the  most,  much  poor  —  shoot  here,  shoot  dere, 
shoot  everywhere  ! " 

"  But  what  makes  you  think  the  children  are 
in  the  cabin?"  asked  Mrs.  Jones ;  for,  mother- 
like,  her  thoughts  were  constantly  recurring  to 
them. 

"Trail  go  towards  cabin,"  replied  the  sagacious 
red  man  ;  "  couldn't  follow  trail ;  shoot  Long  Hair 
if  he  follow  trail." 

"I  think  that  Long  Hair  is  right,"  said  the 
general,  striking  the  table  with  the  flat  of  his  hand  : 
"your  boys  were  born  to  be  heroes,  madam.  If 
I  mistake  not,  that  Charlie  and  Bub  of  yours 
were  the  defenders  of  that  cabin  against  the  sav 
ages.  And  yet,"  he  added,  doubtfully,  "that  is 
simply  absurd ;  it's  beyond  the  power  of  two  lit 
tle  boys  to  perform  such  a  feat ;  for  you  recollect, 
ladies,  that  Long  Hair  said  that  not  only  a  num 
ber  of  guns  were  fired,  but  at  the  same  time ; 
and  to  conclude  that  two  little  boys  should  fire 
off  a  score  of  guns,  more  or  less,  simultaneously, 
is  to  assent  to  a  physical  impossibility.  The 
truth  is,  the  deeper  I  go  into  this  matter,  the 
more  I'm  puzzled.  What  is  your  opinion  of  it, 
Long  Hair?" 


LONG    HAIR.  271 

"  Long  Hair  no  sense ;  no  tell ;  mind  much 
dark ;  "  and  the  Indian  seemed  mortified  that  his 
sagacity  was  for  once  at  fault.  "  No  white  set 
tlers  in  cabin ;  Charlie  and  Bub  in  cabin ;  much 
gun  fire ;  hurt  two,  tree  Injin ;  scare  much  In- 
jin  —  don't  know." 

"  He  means  that  he  is  certain  that  no  settlers 
have  returned  to  the  cabin,"  explained  Mrs. 
Jones,  "  but  that  Charlie  and  Bub  are  there ; 
while  as  to  who  shot  off  so  many  fire-arms,  he  is 
as  much  in  the  dark  as  ourselves." 

"Well,"  said  the  general,  rising,  "there  is  one 
way  to  clear  up  this  mystery.  I'll  send  a  trusty 
detachment  there  at  once  to  open  the  secrets 
of  the  cabin." 

Long  Hair  rose  at  this,  and  said,  — 

"  White  chief  send  sojer  to  cabin,  right  way, 
bimeby,  quick?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  general,  "and  I  should  like 
to  have  you  go  with  them  as  guide." 

"No,"  answered  the  Indian,  sententiously ; 
"  Long  Hair  go  'lone ;  Longr  Hair  always  go 
'lone ; "  and,  starting  at  a  quick  pace,  he  was 
speedily  out  of  sight. 


272  THE   CABIN   ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 


CHAPTER    XXL 


"PULL    THE    STRING,    BUB." 


THE  high  state  of  excitement  into  which 
Charlie  had  been  kept  by  the  startling  events 
connected  with  the  massacre,  and  his  ingenious 
defence  of  the  cabin,  brought  about  a  reaction ; 
great  lassitude  alternated  with  feverish  symp 
toms.  He  felt  obliged  to  watch  during  the  long 
hours  of  night,  and  caught  such  snatches  of 
sleep  as  Bub's  performances  allowed  by  day. 

One  day,  after  Bub  had  had  his  breakfast, 
Charlie  said,  — 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  was  going  to  be  sick,  Bub ;  my 
mouth  tastes  dreadfully,  and  my  head  aches  so  I 
can  scarcely  see.  If  I  shouldn't  get  well,  and 
the  Indians  should  come,  you  must  remember  and 
go  into  the  hole  in  the  cellar,  and  pull  the  stone 
up  in  its  place  after  you,  just  as  I  showed  you 
how,  and  keep  still  same  as  we  did  in  the  tree." 

"  And  shall  I  have  to  take  the  toffee-pot  and 
go  to  the  spring,  same's  you  did?" 

"No,"  said  Charlie;  "the  Indians  would  see 
you  and  kill  you  if  you  did,  and  we  have  a  well 


PULL    THE    STRING,    BUB.  273 

in  the  yard.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll 
bring  a  pail  of  cold  water  now,  and  fill  the  coffee 
pot,  and  put  it  into  the  hole,  and  a  good  lot  of 
food  there  for  you  to  eat,  so  that  you  wouldn't 
have  to  come  out  for  anything ;  and,  Bub,  if  I 
should  die,  and  father  and  mother  should  come 
and  take  you  away,  I  want  you  to  tell  them 
that  I  put  the  water  and  the  food  there ;  won't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bub;  "and  I'll  let  them  hide  in 
our  tree;  mayn't  I,  Charlie?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Charlie  ;  "you  must  tell  them 
all  you  can  remember ;  tell  them  that  I  tried  to 
be  a  good  boy;  tell  mother,"  —  speaking  very 
softly,  —  "that  every  night  we  said  'Now  I  lay 
me  ; '  and  don't  you  never  forget  to  say,  ?  Now  I 
lay  me  ; '  will  you,  Bub  ?  " 

"No,  I  won't,"  said  Bub  ;  "tos,  if  I'm  dood,  like 
you  and  mother,  and  say,  '  Now  I  lay  me '  every 
night,  when  I  die  Dod  will  send  a  big  angel 
down  to  take  me  up  to  heaven ;  won't  he, 
Charlie?" 

"Yes,"  said  Charlie.  "Now  I'll  go  get  the 
water ; "  and,  walking  with  unsteady  step  to  the 
well,  he  returned  with  a  pail  of  water,  and,  fill 
ing  the  coffee-pot,  descended,  feebly,  to  the 
cellar,  and  placed  it  in  the  hole  which  lie  had 
dug ;  then,  carrying  most  of  the  provisions  that 
they  had,  deposited  them  there  also,  and  going 
18 


274  THE    CABIN    °N    THE    PRAIRIE. 

up  stairs  again,  he  started  for  the  bed,  but  sud 
denly  stopped,  and  putting  his  hand  over  his 
eyes,  said,  — 

"O,  where  is  it?  I  can't  see,  I'm  so  dizzy ," 
and  fell  by  the  side  of  it,  on  the  hard  floor.  Bub 
looked  on  in  wonder,  scarcely  comprehending 
the  meaning  of  it,  saying,  — 

"Did  the  cellar  hurt  you,  Charlie?"  But 
there  was  no  answer.  In  a  few  moments  after, 
Charlie  opened  his  eyes,  and  said, — 

"  Bub,  I'm  dreadful  sick  ;  if  the  Indians  should 
come,  —  and  you  must  watch  for  them,  Bub,  else 
they  might  come  when  you  wasn't  looking,  —  " 

Then  he  relapsed  into  silence. 

"Did  you  'peak,  Charlie?"  said  Bub,  wonder 
ing  that  he  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  The 
dear  little  voice  seemed  to  recall  his  wandering 
thoughts,  and,  taking  up  what  he  was  saying 
where  he  had  left  off,  continued, — 

"  If  the  Indians  should  come,  Bub,  remember 
and  pull  the  strings ;  perhaps  that  will  frighten 
them  off,  as  it  did  before.  If  it  doesn't,  go  right 
into  the  hole  in  the  cellar,  as  I  told  you." 

"  I  fraid  to  go  into  the  cellar  'out  you." 

"But  you  must,"  answered  Charlie,  "or^the 
Indians  will  kill  you.  But  you  won't  feel  afraid 
if  you  pray  God  to  take  care  of  you.'* 

"  Is  Dod  stronger  than  dark?"  asked  Bub. 

"Yes,"  said  Charlie,  "he  made  the  dark;  he 


PULL    THE    STRING,    BUB.  275 

made  you,  and  everything ;  but,"  he  added,  "  I 
feel  better ;  I  guess  I'll  get  on  the  bed ;  it's  easier 
there." 

Charlie  was  threatened  with  brain  fever,  as 
his  bloodshot  eyes,  flushed  face,  and  throbbing 
temples  revealed.  The  strain  had  been  too  great 
for  him,  and  he  soon  seemed  to  be  unconscious 
of  what  was  passing  around  him,  and  moaned 
and  tossed  incessantly.  Chary  of  his  scanty 
store  of  provisions,  not  knowing  how  long  they 
might  be  shut  up  in  the  cabin,  he  had  eaten 
sparingly  himself,  but  fed  Bub  generously,  not 
only  from  love  to  his  little  brother,  but  because 
it  would  keep  him  the  more  quiet.  The  night- 
watching  had  worn  on  him  terribly. 

Bub  had  small  comprehension  of  Charlie's  con 
dition  ;  and  finding,  after  a  while,  that  Charlie  did 
not  talk  with  him,  he  took  the  post  of  sentinel, 
and  did  himself  great  credit.  This  seemed  a 
long  period  to  the  little  fellow,  and  after  going 
the  rounds  of  the  port-hole,  and  seeing  nothing  to 
alarm  him,  he  set  about  amusing  himself.  The 
skin  bag,  containing  the  ammunition,  caught  his 
eye ;  so,  getting  the  fire-shovel,  he  managed  to 
dislodge  it  from  the  peg  on  which  it  hung,  and 
down  it  plumped  upon  the  floor.  Bub  looked 
towards  Charlie  at  this,  to  see  what  he  would 
say,  but,  as  he  did  not  seem  to  notice,  lugged  the 
bag  to  the  hearth,  and  commenced  strewing  the 


276  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

powder  upon  the  fire.  This  was  highly  satis 
factory,  and  one  little  puff  would  go  up,  sending 
out  the  white  ashes,  to  be  succeeded  by  another, 
as  fast  as  the  fat  fist  of  the  little  mischief-maker 
could  work.  Then  he  began  to  strew  the  powder 
out  from  the  hearth  upon  the  floor ;  and  he  clapped 
his  hands  in  glee,  as  he  saw  the  fire  run  along 
the  trains  that  he  had  laid.  Very  careless  was  he 
in  his  pyrotechnic  contrivances,  and  might  have 
found  himself  involved  in  a  grand  explosion,  had 
he  not  bethought  himself  that,  if  powder  wras 
good  to  burn,  it  was  also  good  to  eat.  Now,  it 
chanced  that  Charlie,  in  his  investigations  in  the 
cupboard,  had  come  across  a  neglected  jug,  that 
contained  molasses ;  and  as  molasses  \vas  much 
prized  by  Bub,  he  had  kept  it  for  that  little  boy's 
sole  use,  dealing  it  out  to  him,  a  little  at  a  time, 
at  each  meal.  So,  bringing  out  the  jug  and  a 
saucer,  Bub  filled  the  latter  with  molasses,  into 
which  he  stirred  the  powder,  and  commenced 
eating  the  sweet  mixture.  He  knew  he  had  been 
into  mischief  that  would  displease  his  brother  ;  so, 
denying  himself  the  first  taste,  taking  the  saucer 
and  spoon  in  his  hand,  he  trudged  to  the  bedside, 
and  said,  — 

"  Bub  made  Charlie  some  tandy.  Bub  good 
boy." 

But,  as  Charlie  gave  no  heed  to  the  peace- 
offering,  Bub  put  the  saucer  upon  the  table,  and, 


PULL   THE    STRING,    BUB.  277 

seating  himself  in  his  usual  place  at  meal  time, 
commenced  eating.  The  compound  was  not  so 
pleasant  as  its  inventor  had  expected,  and,  after 
the  first  few  spoonfuls,  was  abandoned  in  dis 
gust.  It  now  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  time 
to  resume  his  post  as  sentry.  Mounting  to  his 
first  outlook,  his  little  blue  eyes  dilated,  for  he 
saw  an  Indian  creeping  along. 

"  Charlie,"  said  he,  jumping  down  in  terror, 
"Injun  come  to  kill  Bub!" 

But,  as  Charlie  did  not  reply,  he  clambered  on 
the  bed,  crying,  — 

"  Charlie,  'peak  to  Bub  ;  Injun  come  !  "  Then, 
supposing  that  the  reason  he  made  no  answer 
was  because  he  had  burnt  the  powder,  he  said, 
with  quivering  lip, — 

"  Bub's  sorry  he's  been  naughty  ;  Bub  won't  be 
naughty  no  more.  Bub  love  Charlie ; "  and  he 
put  his  little  face  lovingly  against  Charlie's.  But 
he  started  back  as  Charlie's  hot  cheeks  touched 
his  tender  flesh.  Remembering  how  hot  his  own 
flesh  was  when  tortured  with  thirst  in  the  tree, 
and  how  grateful  the  draught  of  water  was 
Charlie  fetched  from  the  spring  at  the  risk  of  his 
life,  Bub  exclaimed, — 

"  Charlie  dry  ;  Bub  give  Charlie  some  drink  !  " 
and  hastening  to  the  table,  he  took  from  it  the  large 
bowl,  and  filled  it  from  the  bucket  that  Charlie 
had  left  on  the  floor,  and,  climbing  with  it  on  the 


278  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

bed  again,  essaying  to  put  it  to  his  lips,  upset 
the  whole  over  his  face  and  neck.  The  sudden 
application  of  the  cold  water  proved  a  balm  to 
the  sick  boy,  and,  recognizing  Bub,  he  inquired, 
confusedly,  — 

"Where  —  where  am  I? — what's  the  matter?" 

"  Injun's  come ! "  cried  Bub,  with  renewed 
earnestness. 

Charlie  attempted  to  rise,  but  fell  back,  ex 
hausted,  saying,  while  3.  growing  faintness  crept 
over  him,  — 

"  I  can't  get  up,  Bub,  I'm  so  sick ;  pull  the 
string." 

Bub  did  as  he  was  directed,  and  again  the 
cabin  fort  broke  the  stillness  of  prairie  and  forest 
with  its  unmanned  broadside. 

"  Now,"  said  Charlie,  his  voice  sinking  to  a 
whisper,  "go  and  hide  yourself  in  the  cellar, 
Bub,  and  keep  very  still." 

"  I  'fraid  'out  you  !  "  said  Bub. 

"  I  am  so  sick,"  answered  Charlie,  w  I  can't  go 
with  you." 

"I  so  'fraid!"  quivered  Bub,  as  he  saw  the 
deathly  pallor  creeping  over  Charlie's  face,  and 
the  fixed  look  of  his  eyes. 

"  Pray,  and  then  go  and  keep  still,"  said 
Charlie. 

And  little  Bub  knelt  by  the  bedside,  and,  fold 
ing  his  hands,  repeated,  — 


PULL   THE    STRING,    BUB.  279 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep; 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep ; 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take ;  " 

and  then  adding,  of  his  own  accord,  "Please, 
Dod,  take  care  of  Charlie,  and  don't  let  the  dark 
hurt  Bub;"  rising,  he  said,  "Bub  isn't  'fraid 
now  ;  "  and,  descending  into  the  cellar,  he  crept 
into  his  hiding-place  in  the  wall,  and  carefully 
readjusted  the  stone. 

The  Indian  that  Bub  had  seen  was  Long  Hair. 
While  he  was  cautiously  reconnoitring,  the  com 
mand  under  Captain  Manly  had  reached  the 
ground.  The  soldiers  found  the  outer  door  se 
curely  fastened,  and,  though  they  thundered  for 
admittance,  there  was  no  response  from  within. 
In  their  impatience,  some  broke  down  the  door, 
while  others  scaled  the  walls.  Captain  Manly 
was  the  first  to  enter, -and  the  soldiers  pushed  in 
eagerly  after  him,  anxious  to  rescue  the  settlers, 
if  any  were  there  still.  Instantly  his  eye  caught 
the  figure  stretched  on  the  bed. 

"Hush,  boys,"  said  he,  reverently;  "the  little 
fellow  is  dead." 

Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  the  men  as  they  gath 
ered  about  their  officer,  and  gazed  silently  upon 
the  features  of  the  boy.  A  placid  look  was  upon 
the  brave  lad's  countenance ;  his  curly-brown 
hair  lay  in  dank  masses,  in  fine  contrast  to  his 


280  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

white  forehead  ;  while  the  lessons  of  self-control, 
which  he  had  been  taught,  made  his  expression 
mature  and  noble.  Captain  Manly  stooped  and 
kissed  the  cold  forehead,  and  the  soldiers  instinc 
tively  lifted  their  caps. 

Meanwhile,  the  cabin  had  been  carefully 
searched. 

"There's  not  a  soul  in  it,"  said  Sergeant  Eaton, 
touching  his  cap.  w  The  little  lad  yonder  seems 
to  have  been  all  alone." 

"  Impossible.  What  did  that  firing  mean  from 
the  cabin,  just  as  we  rode  up?  And  here,  you 
see,  are  no  less  than  a  dozen  rifles,  all  nicely 
mounted.  Where  are  the  fingers  that  pulled  the 
triggers?  Sergeant,  there  is  some  mystery  here 
that  needs  to  be  unravelled.  Have  you  searched 
the  cellar?" 

"We  have,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

The  officers  stood  looking  at  each  other  per 
plexed,  and  were  continuing  their  conversation 
in  a  low  tone,  when  Long  Hair  entered,  and 
without  noticing  any  one,  stood,  with  folded 
arms,  gazing  at  Charlie. 

"Long  Hair,"  said  the  captain,  turning  ab 
ruptly  towards  him,  "  how  long  did  you  get  here 
before  we  did?" 

"  Little  time  —  not  much." 

"  Were  you  on  the  ground  when  we  heard  the 
discharge?" 


PULL    THE    STRING,    BUB.  28l 

w  In  tree ;  just  here ;  over  dere." 

"  Did  any  one  leave  the  cabin  after  the  guns 
were  fired?" 

"No  leave  cabin,"  he  answered. 

"Who  do  you  think  fired  the  guns,  Long 
Hair?" 

"Charlie  fire  gun." 

"  But  Charlie  is  dead ;  and  the  discharge  was 
only  a  few  moments  ago." 

"No;  Indian  no  sense;  Charlie  no  fire  gun. 
Bub  fire  gun." 

"  Impossible,"  returned  the  captain,  impatiently. 
"How  could  such  a  child  do  it?" 

"  What  string  for,  cap'n  ?  "  asked  Long  Hair, 
pointing  to  the  twine  that  hung  from  the  gun  trig 
gers,  which,  being  so  near  the  color  of  the  walls, 
had  been  detected  only  by  the  Indian's  keen 
glance.  This  ingenious  arrangement  was  ex 
amined  with  interest ;  and  the  conviction  was  fast 
gaining  ground,  that  Long  Hair  was  not  far  from 
right  in  his  conclusions. 

"  But  where  is  the  child  ?  "  asked  the  captain  ; 
and  again  they  searched  the  cabin.  The  closet 
was  peered  into  to  its  topmost  shelf;  a  few  boxes 
that  had  been  left,  emptied  of  their  contents ; 
even  the  bed  on  which  Charlie  lay  was  minutely 
examined,  and  the  improbable  supposition  that 
the  walls  of  the  cellar  might  conceal  him  was 


282  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

renounced,  as  the  soldiers  struck  the  butts  of  their 
guns  against  the  stones. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  asked  the  captain  of  Long 
Hair,  —  for  he  had  learned  to  rely  much  on  his 
sagacity, — "that  Bub  could  escape  from  the 
house?" 

Long  Hair  shook  his  head,  saying, — 

"  No  trail ;  Bub  no  go." 

"  May  it  ptlase  your  honor,"  said  the  Irish  pri 
vate,  O'Connor,  touching  his  cap  to  the  captain, 
"I  belave,  on  me  sowl,  that  it's  the  ghost  of  the 
brave  lad  that  shot  the  guns.  The  likes  of  him, 
sir,  would  be  afther  defendin'  the  cabin  if  'twas 
only  out  of  respect  to  the  onburied  bodies  of  the 
women  and  the  childers  that  has  been  murthured 
by  the  hathen  savages  —  bad  luck  to  'em  !  " 

"Long  Hair,"  said  the  captain,  smiling  at  the 
superstition  of  the  warm-hearted  Hibernian,  "I've 
a  mind,  while  the  men  are  taking  their  rations  on 
the  grass,  to  leave  you  to  clear  up  this  mystery ; 
I  believe,  if  any  one  can  find  it  out,  you  can." 

The  men,  having  fallen  into  line,  stacked  their 
guns,  and  Long  Hair  was  left  alone  with  Char 
lie.  He  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  quiet 
form  of  the  boy ;  and  the  workings  of  his  usu 
ally  stolid  face  showed  the  affection  which  he 
felt  for  him.  He  then  carefully  looked  about  the 
room,  then  went  quietly  out,  and  passed  around 
the  cabin,  critically  examining  the  ground  as  he 


PULL    THE    STRING,    BUB.  283 

walked.  He  soon  returned,  and  made  directly 
for  the  cellar,  gliding  noiselessly  in  his  mocca- 
sons  down  the  stairs.  In  the  dim  light  he  care 
fully  went  over  the  cellar  bottom.  Taking  up 
some  of  the  litter  with  which  it  was  covered,  he 
gently  scraped  the  fresh  sand  away  until  he  came 
to  litter  again.  Patiently  and  carefully  then  he 
removed  the  top  litter  from  a  wide  space,  noticing 
from  which  direction  the  sand  had  been  thrown, 
and  in  a  moment  he  was  standing  where  the 
heap  had  been,  which  Charlie  and  Bub  had 
shovelled  away.  Stooping  down  now,  he  saw 
where  the  earth  had  been  fretted  by  the  stone  as 
it  had  been  pulled  out  and  in ;  then  he  placed  his 
ear  to  the  ground,  and  listened  intently ;  instant 
ly  he  glided  from  the  cellar,  and  stood  with 
folded  arms  before  Captain  Manly. 

"Well,  what  luck?"  asked  the  captain. 

"  Long  Hair  find  pappoose." 

There  was  a  general  excitement  at  this,  and  a 
number  arose,  as  if  eager  to  follow  the  captain 
and  the  Indian ;  but  Long  Hair  stirred  not,  say 
ing,  angrily,  — 

"Too  much  sojer;  scare  pappoose." 

"That  is  sensible,"  said  the  captain ;  "you  and 
I  will  go  alone,  Long  Hair." 

The  Indian  led  him  at  once  to  the  place  in  the 
wall  where  Bub  was  concealed. 


284  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

"Pappoose  in  dere,"  said  the  Indian,  pointing 
to  the  stone.  "Take  stone  out." 

The  captain  drew  it  forth,  got  down  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  and  peeped  in,  and  saw  Bub's 
bright  eyes  looking  into  his ;  and,  taking  hold 
of  Bub's  chubby  hand,  he  said,  soothingly,  — for 
Bub  now  began  to  cry,  — 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  my  little  fellow ;  we  are  all 
your  friends,  and  have  come  to  take  you  to  your 
mother." 

"Won't  Injun  kill  me?"  asked  Bub,  glancing 
apprehensively  at  Long  Hair. 

"No,"  said  the  officer;  "it's  Long  Hair;  he 
came  to  keep  the  bad  Indians  from  killing  you." 

When  Captain  Manly  appeared  with  Bub  in 
his  arms,  the  air  was  rent  with  the  joyful  shouts 
of  the  soldiers ;  and  Bub  suddenly  found  himself 
a  hero,  as  he  was  borne  about  and  caressed  by 
them  —  a  joy  that  was  suddenly  intensified  to  a 
wild  pitch  of  excitement,  as  word  was  brought 
that  dear,  brave,  romantic  Charlie  had  revived. 
He  was  not  dead.  Aroused  by  the  shouts  of  the 
soldiers  over  Bub's  appearance,  he  had  opened 
his  eyes,  and,  imagining  that  the  Indians  were 
assailing  the  cabin,  murmured,  in  a  clear,  distinct 
voice,  — 

"  Pull  the  string,  Bub  ! " 


TOM   AND   THE   MONEY-LENDER.  285 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

TOM   AND    THE    MONEY-LENDER. 

MR.  COWLES  —  farmer,  grocer,  postmaster, 
and  money-lender  —  drew  his  chair  to  the  fire. 
The  large,  old-fashioned  stove  had  an  open  front, 
and  it  was  pleasant,  on  such  a  piercing  day,  to 
see  the  flames  leap,  and  hear  the  wood  crackle, 
and  sit  in  the  genial  warmth. 

The  table  was  neatly  set  for  supper.  There 
was  a  platter  of  cold  prairie  chicken,  a  glass  dish 
containing  wild-plum  sauce,  and  a  plate  of  bis 
cuit  ;  while  on  the  stove  hearth  stood  a  white 
tureen,  holding  a  few  slices  of  hot  toast. 

Mrs.  Cowles,  having  been  informed  by  her  liege 
lord  that  her  presence  was  not  desired  at  that 
particular  hour,  had  gladly  improved  the  oppor 
tunity  to  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  her  friend  Mrs. 
Barker,  and  learn  the  particulars  concerning  the 
accident  that  happened  to  Bill  Walker  and  Maria 
Hobbs  the  night  before,  who,  while  returning 
from  a  log-house  dance,  six  miles  away,  were 
upset  from  the  wagon  into  Slough  Creek.  Mrs. 
Cowles  dearly  loved  a  dish  of  gossip,  which, 


286  THE    CABIN    ON   THE    PRAIRIE. 

smoking  hot  and  seasoned  to  one's  taste,  was 
always  to  be  had  at  Mrs.  Barker's. 

The  Cowles  were  a  money-loving  and  money- 
getting  race,  from  the  least  of  them  to  the  great 
est;  and  Mr.  Charles  Cowles  was  not  a  whit 
behind  the  shrewdest  of  them  in  this  respect. 

It  was  a  stormy  afternoon  in  March,  and  the 
winds,  which,  like  troops  of  wild  horses,  came 
careering  across  the  prairies,  and  charged  upon 
the  ifioney-lender's  "framed"  house,  furiously 
whirled  the  snow,  and  made  shrill,  wintry  music. 
Mr.  Cowles  added  more  fuel  to  the  fire,  reseated 
himself,  put  his  feet  into  a  chair,  and  fell  into  a 
deep  study. 

He  wras  the  moneyed  man  of  the  place,  and, 
although  comparatively  a  new  comer,  was  the 
autocrat  of  the  settlement.  His  first  visit  to  the 
town,  "prospecting,"  caused  considerable  com 
motion  ;  for  if  the  groves  and  prairies  had  been 
arranged  on  the  plan  of  a  vast  whispering-gallery, 
the  fact  that  he  had  a  golden  purse  could  scarcely 
have  circulated  more  rapidly.  Many  prophesied 
he  would  not  condescend  to  dwell  in  so  small  a 
town  —  a  surmise  that  seemed  the  more  probable 
from  his  haughty,  overbearing  carriage.  And 
when  it  was  certain  that  he  had  bought  out  the 
best  of  the  two  stores,  and  carpenters  were  set  to 
work  building  a  large  addition  to  the  grocery, 
and  teams  arrived  from  the  Mississippi  loaded 


TOM    AND    THE    MONEY-LENDER.  287 

with  barrels  and  boxes  of  goods,  there  was  gen 
eral  congratulation.  The  town  will  go  ahead 
now,  the  settlers  said ;  men  of  capital  are  begin 
ning  to  come  in,  and  land  is  sure  to  rise. 

But  Mr.  Cowles  did  not  pitch  his  tent  there  for 
the  benefit  of  the  public,  as  the  public  soon  had 
reason  to  know.  He  invested  nothing  in  "im 
provements,"  but  simply  kept  his  stock  replen 
ished,  selling  at  the  high  frontier  prices,  giving 
credit  when  wanted,  but  always  taking  ample 
security,  and  letting  money  in  the  same  way,  at 
five  per  cent,  per  month. 

The  settlers  had  met  with  the  usual  financial 
disappointments  of  the  frontier,  and  then  a  busi 
ness  revulsion  at  the  east  caused  a  fall  in  the 
value  of  land,  and  a  diminution  of  immigration ; 
and,  having  expended  the  little  they  had  on  their 
arrival,  they  were  compelled  to  do  as  best  they 
could.  In  this  extremity  it  became  common  for 
them  to  get  trusted  at  the  store  for  groceries,  and 
hire  money  of  its  proprietor ;  and  in  an  astonish 
ingly  short  space  of  time,  the  sharp  grocer  held 
mortgages  on  most  of  the  farms  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  He  was  inexorable  when  pay-day  came  ; 
and  if  the  money  was  not  ready,  he  foreclosed, 
deaf  to  all  appeals.  But  of  this  he  invariably 
gave  each  one  who  applied  for  a  loan  an  offen 
sively  plain  warning.  He  was  a  middle-sized, 
broad-chested,  black-eyed  man,  muscular,  pas- 


288  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

sionate,  blasphemously  profane,  heavy-voiced, 
had  a  remarkable  command  of  language,  and 
when  angered  his  eyes  seemed  to  shoot  light 
ning,  and  he  would  gesticulate  with  great  energy. 
There  was  no  respect  of  persons  or  station  with 
him ;  high  and  low  were  served  alike.  When 
credit  or  money  was  asked  for,  he  would  say,  — 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  but,  mind  you,"  with  a  fearful 
oath,  "if  you  don't  pay  according  to  agreement, 
I  shan't  wait  a  moment.  Everybody  that  deals 
with  me  has  to  be  on  the  square.  O,  yes ;  you 
expect  to  pay,  but  you  won't.  And  don't  you 
come  whining  and  crying  round  me  then  ;  it  won't 
make  any  sort  of  difference.  I've  put  my  grip  on 
your  land,  and  I  tell  you  now  that  I  shan't  let  go. 
Don't  you  say,  then,  that  I  didn't  tell  you  before 
hand  just  how  it  would  turn  out." 

The  money-lender  of  the  young  village  was 
feared,  hated,  and  fawned  upon.  His  bearing 
was  imperious  and  sneering  towards  all.  He  had 
a  vigorous  intellect,  however,  was  uncommonly 
well-informed,  and  would  discourse  to  the  groups 
in  his  store,  sitting  with  his  stout  legs  hanging 
over  the  counter,  with  a  coarse  brilliancy,  origi 
nal  and  sagacious,  from  which  the  more  cultured 
might  cull  gems  of  thought,  fresh  and  striking, 
despite  the  terrible  swearing,  which  would  startle 
even  bad  men. 


TOM    AND    THE    MONEY-LENDER.  289 

Was  there  "a  well  in  the  rock"  of  this  man's 
hard  heart?  We  shall  see. 

The  lines  of  the  money-lender's  face  were 
bitterly  hard ;  but  on  this  afternoon  his  features 
worked  as  if  strong  conflicting  emotions  were 
striving  for  mastery.  Something  unusual  was 
stirring  his  brain  ;  he  sat  thinking,  thinking,  un 
easily  shifting  his  position,  and  at  length  arose, 
and  passing  through  a  dark  hall,  entered  the 
shop,  and  said,  — 

"Ah,  Tom,  is  that  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  young  man,  diffidently; 
"  Mr.  Payson  said  you  wished  to  see  me." 

"Yes,  walk  in  this  way;"  and  Mr.  Cowles 
returned  to  the  home-room,  followed  by  Tom. 

"Do  you  know  why  I  sent  for  you?"  asked 
the  grocer. 

"No,  sir." 

tcWell,  I  had  a  little  private  matter  that  I 
wished  to  talk  with  you  about ;  but  I'm  hungry 
as  a  bear,  and  if  you'll  do  me  the  favor  to  drink 
a  cup  of  tea  with  me,  I'll  try  to  explain." 

Tom  had  ever  shrunk  from  contact  with  this 
man,  and  marvelled  much  at  finding  himself  his 
guest.  Yet  a  cosy  sitting  down  together  they 
had,  Tom's  host  being  singularly  attentive  to 
him,  while  they  partook  of  the  nice  edibles. 

"  Tom,"  said  the  grocer,  as  they  sat  back  from 
the  table,  "  I've  heard  good  accounts  of  you ; " 

19 


THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

and  his  voice  grew  soft  and  tremulous ;  ??  and 
I'm  really  glad  of  it.  And  I've  had  an  eye  on 
you  myself  quite  a  while ;  and,  bad  as  they  say 
old  Cowles  is,  I  like  to  see  others  do  well.  You 
stuck  by  your  folks  when  you  wished  to  go  oft'; 
that's  right.  You  made  the  most  of  your  school 
ing  ;  that's  in  your  favor.  You  are  an  honest, 
right-minded  lad,  aiming  to  be,  I  suspect,  some 
such  a  man  as  that  missionary." 

Tom's  surprise  grew  apace.  How  did  this 
rough,  swearing,  covetous  dealer  ferret  out  his 
heart's  secrets? 

"  You  wished  to  go  from  home  to  study,  but, 
like  a  true  son,  staid  by  to  help  the  family. 
That  must  have  been  a  great  self-denial  to  you ; 
was  it  not?" 

"Yes,"  faltered  Tom. 

"  Of  course  it  was.  But  how  did  you  manage 
to  give  it  up  so  bravely  ?  " 

"  Mother  advised  me  to  pray  about  it,  and 
I  did." 

"  Do  you  think  it  does  any  good  to  pray  ? " 
asked  the  grocer. 

"  O,  yes,  indeed.  I  couldn't  live  without 
prayer,  it  helps  me  so  much." 

"  But,"  objected  his  questioner,  "  do  you  imagine 
that  the  great  God  cares  enough  about  our  little 
affairs  to  answer  the  trifling  requests  we  may 
make  of  him?" 


TOM    AND    THE    MONEY-LENDER.  2pl 

"  I  do,  sir,"  replied  Tom,  with  glowing  cheeks 
and  tearful  eyes ;  "  I  have  known  him  to  do  so 
many  and  many  a  time." 

"  Perhaps  you  were  deceived." 

M  O,"  cried  Tom,  "if  you  had  been  in  the  mis 
sionary's  family  as  much  as  I  have,  and  heard 
him  pray  for  things,  and  then  see  just  what  he 
asked  for  come  into  the  house  almost  before  he 
arose  from  his  knees,  you  could  not  doubt  that 
God  had  heard  him.  Why,  sir,  how  do  you 
suppose  he  has  managed  to  get  along  on  the 
little  that  the  settlers  have  paid  him,  unless  it  has 
been  in  answer  to  prayer?" 

"  I  am  sure  he  must  have  been  pinched,"  an 
swered  the  money-lender,  moving  uneasily. 

"  I  would  like  to  relate  an  instance  or  two," 
continued  Tom,  "if  it  would  not  be  —  " 

"  No,  no,  it  won't  be  disagreeable  to  me ;  but  I 
have  not  time  to  hear  it  now.  I  believe  all  you 
say.  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  young  man,"  he  added, 
rising  and  pacing  the  floor,  deeply  agitated,  "  I 
know  more  about  these  matters  than  folks  think. 
There's  my  brother ;  he's  a  Methodist  minister, 
just  like  this  missionary  about  praying.  He's 
often  prayed  for  me,  and  says  he  has  the  evi 
dence  that  I  shall  be  converted,  and  become  a 
preacher." 

"  Perhaps  you  will,"  earnestly  remarked  Tom  ; 


THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  you  have  ability  enough  to  do  a  great  deal  of 
good." 

"  So  he  says.  What  if  it  should  come  about ! 
How  strange  it  would  seem  for  a  cursing  old 
sinner  like  me  to  preach  and  pray  as  that  mis 
sionary  does  !  They  call  me  a  hard  man.  But 
what  can  I  do?  Don't  I  inform  every  soul  that 
asks  me  for  money  that  he's  a  fool,  and  that  I 
shall  hold  him  to  the  writing?  I  get  their  lands, 
it  is  true ;  but  if  I  did  not,  somebody  else  would. 
Why,  they  mortgage  all  they  have,  and  then  buy 
the  highest  priced  goods  in  the  store.  I've  no 
patience  with  such  folks,  and  they  don't  get  much 
mercy  from  me." 

"But,"  bluntly  said  Tom,  "I  can't  see  how 
another's  wrong-doing  justifies  ours." 

"That's  so,"  he  returned,  gloomily.  "But 
I've  a  different  sort  of  business  to  transact  with 
you,  than  to  defend  my  misdeeds.  That  mis 
sionary  has  been  making  me  a  pastoral  visit,  and 
he  took  it  upon  himself  to  inform  me  that  the  Lord 
has  called  you  to  preach  the  gospel,  and  that  it 
is  my  duty  to  furnish  money  to  send  you  off  to 
college,  or  some  such  place,  where  they  grind 
out  ministers." 

"  Me  !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  rising  to  his  feet. 

"Yes,  you;  sit  down,  sit  down,  young  man, 
and  be  calm ; "  and  the  grocer,  in  his  own  ex- 


TOM    AND    THE    MONEY-LENDER. 

citement,  gesticulated  violently  with  both  arms 
at  once.  "  He  says  that  I'm  the  only  man  here 
that  has  the  money  to  do  this.  Pretty  cool — 
isn't  it?  —  to  dictate  to  old  Cowles,  the  miserly 
money-grabber,  in  that  way.  I  just  turned  on 
my  heel,  and  left  him  in  the  middle  of  his  order 
ing  ;  but,  you  see,  I  couldn't  help  thinking  about 
it  night  and  day.  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  that  med 
dling  missionary  had  been  praying  about  it  all  the 
while ;  and  the  result  is,  the  old  money-lender  is 
going  to  give  you  a  lift,  my  boy.  We,  hackneyed, 
hopeless  old  reprobates,  need  just  such  preachers 
as  the  missionary's  famous  seminary  is  going  to 
make  out  of  you ;  and  I  invited  you  here  to  say 
that  you  can  depend  on  me  for  two  hundred  dol 
lars  in  gold  to  start  with,  and  as  much  more  each 
year,  till  you  graduate,  as  the  missionary  says  you 
need.  When  old  Cowles  begins  to  do  a  thing, 
mind  you,  he  never  does  it  by  halves." 

"  But,"  said  Tom,  choking  with  joy  and  won 
der,  "  how  shall  I  pay  you?  " 

"  Pay !  pay !  "  roared  the  grocer,  his  eyes 
shooting  flame ;  then,  suddenly  waxing  tender, 
the  tears  extinguishing  the  fire-flashes,  "  if  you 
will  pray  for  a  poor  old  rebel  like  me,  it  is  all  the 
pay  I  want." 

Then,  going  into  the  entry,  he  called,  — 

"Johnson  !    Johnson  ! " 


294  THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

"  Here,  sir,"  said  a  voice  ;  and  the  dapper  little 
tailor,  who  rented  a  window  in  the  store,  made 
his  appearance. 

"  Measure  this  young  man  for  a  suit  of  clothes," 
said  the  grocer;  "and  mind  and  give  him  a 
genteel  fit,  that  will  do  for  him  in  the  best 
circles  east." 


AN   ENCHANTING   SCENE.  295 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AN  ENCHANTING  SCENE.  THE  PARTING. 

"The  hearth  is  swept,  the  fire  is  made, 
The  kettle  sings  for  tea." 

IT  was  the  clear,  honest  voice  of  Deacon  Pal 
mer  that  fell  on  Tom's  ear,  and  which  he  now 
heard  for  the  hundredth  time.  Year  in  and  out, 
at  morning  and  night,  the  good  man  had  sung 
this,  his  favorite  song, —  bachelor  though  he  was, 
with  silver-streaked  hair,  —  as  if  his  heart  yearned 
for  the  wifely  waiting,  and  the  sweet  home-joys 
it  pictured.  Why  were  they  not  his  ?  Do  all  have 
their  longings  for  something  brighter  and  better 
than  the  present  brings  ?  something  for  which  they 
must  wait  and  wait,  and  perchance  never  attain? 

Tom  knocked  modestly  at  the  storekeeper's 
door.  A  moment,  and  the  money-lender  opened 
it,  saying,  heartily,  — 

w  Walk  in;  walk  in!" 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  answered  Tom ;  "I  called 
to  say,  that  as  I  am  to  start  on  Monday  to  begin 
study  at  the  east,"  —  and  the  young  man's  tones 
grew  tremulous,  —  "  General  and  Mrs.  McElroy 


THE   CABIN    ON   THE   PRAIRIE. 

and  mother  are  to  be  at  the  missionary's  to-day, 
and  they  desire  the  pleasure  of  your  company  at 
dinner." 

"Well,  well,  young  man,  you  have  brought  a 
message  —  haven't  you?"  exclaimed  the  grocer, 
fidgeting  about.  "A  pretty  mixed-up  company 
that  would  be  —  wouldn't  it?  Old  Cowles  sitting 
down  to  table  with  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and 
a  student  for  that  sacred  calling,  and  such  like 
folks.  No,  no ;  that  wouldn't  be  consistent.  Tell 
them  that  I  am  much  obliged,  but  —  " 

"Now,  Mr.  Cowles,"  exclaimed  Tom,  seizing 
his  hand,  "you  must  come.  I  shall  feel  dread 
fully  hurt  if  you  refuse,  —  and  they  all  want  you 
to  so  much.  And,  you  know  that  if  it  was  not 
for  your  kindness  —  " 

"  There,  there,  boy,"  interrupted  the  store 
keeper,  his  black  eyes  flashing  through,  tears, 
"  don't  talk  in  that  way.  All  is,  if  it  will  please 
you,  I'll  come.  But  how  do  you  go  to  the  river, 
Monday?" 

"  O,  the  missionary  is  to  get  a  team." 

"  Well,  just  say  to  him  that  my  horses  are  at 
his  service." 

We  will  not  dwell  upon  the  dinner  in  the  log- 
cabin  parsonage,  during  which  "irrepressible" 
Bub  —  his  clerical  tastes  sharpened  by  Tom's 
example  —  took  clandestine  possession  of  the 
attic  study,  and,  constituting  himself  preacher, 


THE    PARTING. 

audience,  and  choir,  undertook  to  conduct  divine 
service.  Having  given  out  the  first  hymn,  he 
drowned  the  missionary's  words,  as  the  latter  said 
grace,  by  stoutly  singing, — 

"  I  want  to  be  an  angel, 
An  angel  with  a  stand." 

Neither  may  we  linger  amid  the  tender,  solemn 
scenes  of  the  Sabbath  following,  the  last  Tom 
was  to  spend  in  the  rude  frontier  sanctuary. 

It  was  evening  of  a  beautiful  day  in  May,  when 
the  money-lender's  capacious  carnage,  drawn  by 
his  trusty  grays,  deposited  its  passengers  at  the 
landing,  to  await  the  steamer.  What  a  lifetime 
of  thought  and  emotion  seemed  crowded  into  that 
interval  of  waiting,  as  Mrs.  Jones  stood  with  Tom 
clasped  closely,  whispering  words  of  mingled 
foreboding,  hope,  and  caution  ! 

"  To  be  a  good  minister  of  Jesus  Christ,  how 
glorious,  how  sublime!""  said  she.  "There  is 
nothing  I  so  much  desire  for  you.  But  you  are 
going  into  scenes  very  different  from  those  in 
which  you  have  been  reared  —  scenes  which  will 
have  their  peculiar  and  insidious  perils.  I  foresee 
that  you  will  rise  to  distinction  in  your  studies. 
But  do  not  seek  high  things  for  yourself.  Be  not 
anxious  to  become  what  is  called  a  great  preacher, 
nor  aspire  to  a  *  brilliant  settlement.'  Sacrifice 
not  conscience  for  place  and  power  and  the  ap- 


THE    CABIN    ON    THE    PRAIRIE. 

plause  of  sect.  Keep  humble.  Keep  Christ  ever 
before  you ;  and  may  he  watch  between  me  and 
thee  while  we  are  separated  from  each  other ; " 
and  she  kissed  him  a  fond  farewell.  Tom  stepped 
aboard  the  steamer,  which  rapidly  bore  him 
away,  carrying  in  his  heart  the  images  of  the 
godly  missionary,  fair-haired  Alice,  and  his 
mother  —  the  little  group  that  stood  on  the  shore 
gazing  so  lovingly  after  him.  The  young  man 
wept  freely  as  they  faded  from  sight.  But,  hap 
pily,  the  magical  splendor  of  night  on  the  Missis 
sippi  broke  in  on  the  tumult  of  his  feelings. 
Hundreds  of  lights  gleamed  from  the  shore  in 
every  direction  ;  from  village,  and  city,  and  town  ; 
from  cottage  and  homestead  ;  while  steamer  after 
steamer,  illuminated  within  and  without,  came 
sweeping,  sounding,  thundering  on,  like  some 
monster  leviathan  spouting  fire.  It  was  as  a 
dream  of  enchantment  to  him,  and  soon  stirred 
his  brain  wonderfully.  With  singular  vividness 
the  eventful  past  of  his  pioneer  life  flitted  be 
fore  his  mental  vision,  and  again  he  experienced 
the  terrible  anxieties  and  thrills  of  horror  and  of 
heroic  resolve  connected  with  the  Indian  uprising. 
And  now  his  tears  flow  as  he  revisits  in  imagination 
the  lonely  grave  of  his  father  on  the  far-off  prairie. 
Would  the  dear  ones  that  survived  the  fearful 
outbreak  be  long  safe?  Might  they  not  soon 
need  his  aid  once  more?  And  the  glowing  future 


THE    PARTING.  299 

for  which  he  had  so  panted,  would  it  be  to  him  all 
he  had  fancied  ?  Would  he  pass  safely  the  dan 
gers  his  far-seeing  mother  had  sketched?  Would 
he  realize  her  ideal?  And  the  kind  missionary 
and  the  eccentric  money-lender,  they  had  high 
expectations  of  what  he  should  become.  Would 
he  disappoint  their  hopes?  Tom,  wearied  with 
thought,  sought  his  state-room,  and  fell  asleep, 
dreaming  that  he  was  hearing,  as  on  the  morning 
of  his  first  visit  to  the  fort,  the  bird-like  notes  of 
the  song  that  then  floated  through  the  open  win 
dow,  and  that  fairy  Alice  looked  out  and  said,  — 
"Don't  forget  me,  Tom,  while  you  are  away." 
Thus  does  divine  and  human  love  ever  inter 
twine.  How  strange,  how  unvarying  the  ex 
perience  !  Farewell,  Tom  !  Farewell,  Charlie  ! 
Good  by,  Bub  !  Perhaps  we  may  meet  again. 


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